“Tiny Acrobat”
Through conifer forests, dark and deep,
Where ancient pines their vigil keep,
The red squirrel darts from tree to tree,
A russet flash of energy.
With tufted ears and bushy tail,
They race along each woodland trail.
Smaller than their grey cousins bold,
These native spirits, brave and old,
Defend their territories with might,
From dawn's first ray to fading light.
Each tree their castle, every cone
A treasure in their woodland home.
They chatter, scold, and stamp their feet,
When strangers dare their realm to meet.
Their alarm calls ring through the wood,
Warning all the neighborhood.
Fierce guardians of the forest floor,
They'll chase intruders from their door.
In autumn's gold and crimson hue,
They gather nuts and pinecones too.
Buried treasures, cached with care,
Hidden in their woodland lair.
Memory sharp as winter's bite,
Guides them to each stored delight.
But grey squirrels spread across the land,
And forests fall to human hand.
These native sprites need ancient trees,
Where they can live their lives with ease.
Protect the woods where red ones play,
To keep these treasures here to stay.
Your creativity knows no bound,
In every habitat they're found.
The alligator's ancient form,
Through eons kept from every storm,
Shows Your eternal, faithful care,
Your providence beyond compare.