The brightness of the moon
trickled through the trees.
The quietness was very soon
disturbed by a breeze.
The sound of tires on highways afar,
created an eerie picture
by the noise from the cars.

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.