The squirell

The Squirrel

The wind swept against the branches. 

Its eyes like a dark endless hole

The squirrels tail rough like sandpaper.


The squirrel runs into the wind

Its fur as rough as a rock

Its tail trails along the tree.


The squirrel sulks in the sad weather

Its mouth full of nuts ready for dinner time

It hunts for nuts and hay to make a den.

 Its teeth as sharp as daggers.

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