Ode To the Long Neglected Squirrel

Hail, high denizen of tree, not one improvident like me, safe within your arbor's ruts, there you keep your store of nuts. Autumnal bunting soon must end. and winter dearth is round the bend. When I behold you as you nibble, what need have I of nymph or Sibyl? Lavish more verses on some cat! Eliot and Gray have seen to that. Browning did not shun the rat, nor did Bram Stoker spurn the bat. Is a squirrel, red or grey a lesser poet's theme than they? Let no distain those efforts hamper that turn our thoughts to those that scamper.