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
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