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By Margaret Marten

With craven claws clinging to bark,
You scamper up and away,
Tail trailing and twisting
Along your wild, winding way.

You wonder whether I'm watching
Your fancy, feverish flight,
And turn to see the foot of the tree,
Preparing to scurry from sight.

With twitching tail and bold bright eyes,
You stop and see my smile,
Then you know you were free to go
Above or below all the while.