Squirrel

The cold draws them in
  almost a dozen to my chagrin;
furry black eyed grays
  wooly bear squirrel daze,
well fed but still
  wanting to fill the vacant thrill
of winter's cold barren needs.

I suppose it's my fault of  stars
  that draws them to the yard
where sunflower seeds await
  with no fear to hesitate,
they banter freely in their display
 consuming all that awaits the stray
safe and feeding eagerly.

Burly grays with freckled tails of brown
 they swiftly flow from tree to ground,
chubby bellies filled
 each can barely able to hold still;
in race and chase they take their turns
 tempted by the seeded cones and ferns
filling the cold and empty burns.

It's a winter morning cold
 when they leave the clustered nest bold
to greet the fading pale sun
 as they set their path on the run;
then checking all the recurring placements
 they feed their hunger statements
content and filled yet always wanting more.

animalfoodwinterrhyme

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