**TOLD FROM A SQUIRELLS PERSPECTIVE**

****

I race along the forest trail

My legs starting to feel frail

I make my way into a clearing, an acorn gripped in my mouth

There, my tree, my home, my hiding place

But no, I have to head south

Right before me is the reason I need space

Blown away by the autumn wind

where my home once withstood through the thick and the thinned

How I have doubted its strengt...