I will no longer allow, myself to succumb,
To that path, when I was young,
Fearing not, if I lived or died,
For it mattered not, if I tried
To have drinks, dance or race cars,
Beneath the dark sky, with sparkling stars.
My memories, of these events, grow dim;
My youth, is no longer a whim
Or fancy affair of daring, so odd,
As I have now, finally found God.
Praise the Lord, for these wonderful things,
As I truly do live amongst kings,
With friends, of long standing, near,
No longer, is it death I fear.

Here I am, a Native Son,
Resisting the invasion that has begun.
I am small and shades of brown.
Now there are some Greys in town.
I run along the fence, so quickly,
Much faster than in a tree.
My name is Walter Earle,
I am a Native Washington Squirrel,
Not a Chipmunk, I must say
But a Native Squirrel, every day.
The invasion came, years ago.
Not sure how, but they did show.
Grey Squirrels, coming from the East,
Eating our food; it was a feast.
I fight very hard for specie survival
Against the Grey, my arch rival.
Who will win, that's hard to say,
But I know that I'm here to stay.

Want not. Don't you worry
Slow you down,
What's the hurry?

Old Clown
Promises he won't keep
Lie he must.