Poem: I Met A Talking Squirrel

I Met A Talking Squirrel

It claimed it was not
a squirrel, though it looked
to be one in every way
and was carrying an acorn,
but it spoke quite well
and I had not met
an eloquent squirrel before,
was surprised
at the quality
of its sentences,
which may be why
I was inclined to believe it,
to listen as it asked for help,
told me how he had been a boy
with a love of mischief,
had angered the lord of the squirrels
by breaking open an acorn store
well before winter,
just for the fun of it,
and the next morning
he woke up a squirrel,
and now he needed
to get every acorn
that he could,
replace the ones
he had knocked loose,
asked if I could help,
said he had not found
any nuts in hours,
cried to me
of his desire
to return home
before nightfall,
painted a portrait
of his mother waiting
in the half-light
of a doorway,
or staring out a window,
and so I fell for it,
ran out to the store
and bought a big bucket
of chestnuts, the closest
I could find to acorns
at the local market,
and it seemed glad for them,
chirped loud when I returned,
thanked me, said he was certain
this would be enough
to earn his restoration,
but just this morning
I spied him again,
saw him standing out there
telling the same story
to a young couple
having a picnic.

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