As dying jewels of autumnal air
Display their languished colours fair,
‘Twixt earth and sky the wraiths o’erhead
Do drop their garments as a bed.
The clothéd arms outstretched, aquiver,
Do grasp the watery sun’s weak shiver.
Those that were once full heavy laden,
In former springs once gentle maiden,
Drooping now the gift of life,
Though slumbering deep, potential’s rife.

And there! What scrabbling, little scurries?
What wood nymphs in their frantic hurries
Do bark unto their young to bear
Their gatherings ‘fore the icy glare
Of Winter’s creeping, deathly hands
Inside the dreaming, frozen lands ?
What ethereal creatures be
These treetop dwellers of mystery?

Behold! They sing!
“'Tis we! The Squiggles!
We dance our harvest ritual wiggles!
‘Tis we! The Kings of Treetop realms!
The Captains of our Nutty Helms!
And you, you humans, those who hate
And blame us for ancestral spate
Of Greys o’erpowering Reds, it pains!
For both bloods run free in our veins.”

“Condemn us not for ancestors;
Condemn us not for nutty stores;
For we need not your money fruits,
Nor shops nor daily town commutes!
We dwell amongst these forest trees;
We live our lives, do as we please.
And should you offer gifts of food,
We’ll gladly bear them home for t’ brood.”

“But you! You bitter ones who scare,
Who trap and kill us – you beware!
You call us vermin, call us rat
With furry tails. Care we of that?
Well actually, we care not much,
For one thing we know, it is such:
We lived in woods, were here first!
We may bark, but we have not cursed.”

“For this we know, this fact is true:
We’ll always have more nuts than you!”
And so, the Squiggles, tired and sleepy,
Creep home to dream, to dream so deeply…
They curl up safely as the tree-door shuts
And think of snuggled, hidden nuts…

Sleep well, sweet Squiggles, sleep well…