When You Wish You Could Be More Like a Squirrel

(Here’s a little poem I wrote on a Saturday afternoon. So why not share? How are you, my friends? I hope everyone is well.)

 

I wish I was a little more like the squirrel that keeps eating my birdseed.

He goes to great lengths to get what he wants.

Stretching and stretching.

Hanging by his toes.

Reaching.

Always reaching.

Sometimes he loses his balance, almost falls.

But he comes back. Again and again.

He tries, and he tries, and he tries.

Until he reaches the sweet.

It never gets easier.

Always a risk.

A chance he might fall.

Then there’s me.

There are things I want

Things I am longing for.

So much sweetness.

Just out of reach.

But I am afraid.

I am afraid I will stretch out my hands

And only grab air.

I watch the squirrel from my kitchen window.

Empty inside my house.