by Gus Kilthau
A squirrely poem
|There once was a squirrel that lived in a tree,
the kind of a squirrel that never should be.
"I'm done with acorns and through with bee honey.
What I really need, is plenty of money."
So, down from the tree, squirrel came in a flash,
revved up his cycle and away for some cash.
You have no account here, said banker to squirrel.
Squirrel grabbed up the money - and away in a whirl.
Policemen and sheriffs looked high and looked low.
"He took all that money, but where did he go?"
Squirrel's speedy cycle was also real green -
green camouflage so it couldn't be seen.
Squirrel was most nutty, and so was his taste.
"He spent all that money - folks said "all to waste."
Acorns and acorns, squirrel bought by the score,
and when he'd done that, he went on to buy more.
His cycle, once green, soon turned into dust.
Its camouflage color now bright red with rust.
Along came the law and collared the critter,
but not for bank robbing. They got him for litter.