It's Still Life

Buried

a grey squirrel races
down the old oak, marks the bark
with its iron claws, chases
along the fence, untroubled across
the slats, not a moment
hesitation, no second thoughts,
no tail flash in exclamation,
and it disappears into the womb
of the laurel, where this squirrel
keeps its dregs and stash.

For Ragtag Daily Prompt “bury”. AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney