Winny sat upon the leaf

watching for the squirrel thief.

It had taken her favorite barrett

and chasing him, she’d gotten wet.

She fell into the rain bucket;

then pulled a tissue from her pocket,

not useful-all wrinkled and soggy,

her mind took turns, angry and foggy,

as water streamed down her face,

she climbed out – with little grace.

Then she shook her fist toward the sun

and yelled, Squirrel, you’d better run!

Winny made a net from an old hat

and waiting for the squirrel, there she sat.

She listened for the scratchy scruffling

and for the branches singing swinging,

but that small wily stealing squirrel

just outwitted that little gnome girl.