The Nut Dance
I have too much time on my hands today.
Tiny, circular acorns
Lined up in a row,
The squirrels are trapeze artists
Juggling them both to and fro,
Their paws don’t skip a beat,
No, nor do they trip or falter,
Their movements are in time,
Their perfection unaltered.
From branch to branch they follow suit,
Their skillful steps still never failing,
The forest stops to listen
To the synchronizing flailing.
The dance comes to an end
And the forest roars its applause
At the duo, to the masters
Who stuff acorns in their paws.
