The squirrels scamper in the snow
So when they climb the tree,
A dust of whiteness flutters down
Like lace embroidery.
It settles back from whence it came
Until the game resumes
And once again, the threat of havoc
From each squirrel looms.
I'm watching from the windows
On a bright white sunny day
And enjoying, gratis, front row seats
To Nature's matinee.
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