Little Gray Pirates

From crude wooden ships Made of twigs and leaves That sail in the wind Now moored in the trees Down from the crows' nest And over the sides They descend like raiders In camouflaged disguise Furry gray pirates Plunder and sift Nuggets pilfered in fall Ensconced in the drift No X's or paces On hand drawn maps Buccaneers dig kickshaws For cold winter fat Assiduous and nervous And always on alert For hungry bounty hunters Aware of their worth Threatened they scatter It's "All hands on deck" Retreating from danger Their lives are in check Back to the safety Of the moored ships that sway Make ready to sail And loot the next day An original poem by thr "poemdog" Daniel Turner