They call you vermin and say you do harm.
They blame you for disease and spread wild alarm;
But all I can think as you climb up my arm
is . . .
I love you, Bushy Tail.
Ever since I was small I've watched you in parks,
Gath'ring acorns and playing—you had such great larks;
And as I played with you my only remarks
were . . .
I love you, Bushy Tail.
Then as I grew older my tastes changed a lot,
But you, friendly squirrel, deserted me not.
The words from the past that I never forgot
are . . .
I love you, Bushy Tail.
Now I'm middle aged, my thoughts more profound.
Still I go to the park, put my hand on the ground
Offering nuts for the taking, and you gather round.
yes . . .
I'll always love you, Bushy Tail.
By John M Ward © 1993