Poetry

Who Let the Squirrels Out? (#600)

She let the squirrels out,
They ran past the waterspout,
Past the herb garden to a tree,
Where they scurried up free,
Bark fell to the ground below,
From up where the winds blow,
Above they chatter and bark,
Some unknown little remark,
There in that tree, they’re safe,
There they can soothe their chafe,
She caught them without a doubt,
But she let those squirrels out,

Any Thoughts?

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