praying for the nuts
begging for them
a gray squirrel by our porch
pitch a peanut, watch his scurry
race to it, dart away, to a few feet of safety
over and over again, till we had no more
walnuts, from outside the shells,
no, they weren’t accepted as is
they must be presented,
given with more flare
a plastic bowl, if you please
so they wouldn’t get dirty
on the wet cold ground
while they are eaten
Great, a particular squirrel;
stick with peanuts
September 3, 2006 16:07
A Bowl of Walnuts
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reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage.
See all 36,870+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Poetry Where You Live.
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