It is a maze of criss-crossed branches

Yet he so effortlessly climbs, jumps, and dances


A patch work of blue mingled with green

His haven of rest

Harvest of food he can glean


Winds blow, rains come

Snows fall, seasons change


Through summer, fall,

Winter, spring

Who, his needs arrange?


Year after year he returns the same

Evident he is loved

But yet, not even tame


Coincidence of Mother Natureís?

Or does a Creator exist

For him, ensures?


Be it God that provides him plenty?

Seeing is believing!


Godís also there for me!


The Squirrel by Ronhales                                                                                                                                                                           Luke 12:24

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