The Squirrel

I climb about,
And touch the sky,
Through branches,
And the air I fly,
My tail unfurls,
Behind me while,
I chatter on,
With toothy smile,
I pillage fruit,
Of beech and oak,
Hiding them,
With dirt as cloak,
I know not where,
I have put them,
Under bush,
Or daisy's stem?
I scurry quick,
Where leaves abound,
Above the dangers,
Of the ground,
At last I reach,
Home, cool and dark,
While crickets chirp,
And dogs do bark.

(This one's for you, C.P.)