We think we own this place. They think
Our yard, our walls are tunneled through
Though we are merely something to put up
Our birds they daily deign to dine and
Our blossom-beds they tear to disarray.
They fear no nuthatch, woodpecker or jay.
Assuming bird-feeders for them were meant,
They pack their cheeks with bounty,
Then creep through grass and pop down
out of sight, But then pop up again, eyes blinking bright.
They climb our shrubs, invade our cellar
Explore each plant. They sit and scratch
Along our old stone walls they jump and run,
Or bask and rub their paws in noonday sun,
Our chase each other madly-chase is fun.
Even as I write, I hear the lone "tick-tock"
Of a lovelorn chipmunk, upright on some rock.