Day 17 – Poetry for Lent

Muskrat Sighting

He shuffles along
in his fuzzy brown coat
little whiskery old man face
peering nearsighted around
in search of a mid-morning snack.
I step out the front door
to say hello, and he startles.
Those beetle-black eyes spot me
and he flees, 
odd bouncing gait comical, 
leathery tail dragging
behind like an unfastened belt.
Wait, I call,
but a faint splash from the ditch
is the muskrat's only answer.

I pile acorns by the bank
as a peace offering.

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