Castor Sapien

 

The chill and fog makes the day quite weary,

A painful droll but certainly not dreary,

Whilst I sit across from clumps of creeper

Whose mass reaches within, deeper and deeper;

Who covers with varying green foliage

Of every shade from frog to sewage,

 

Wearing a guise of profound mystery,

Enclosing years of natural history

Guarded by thick buoyant ensnaring scrub,

Penetrated by select few to grub;

With plump waddle I meander slowly

Biting the creeper, chewing out holey.

 

Barely roomy enough to squeeze inside

My fuzzy beaver rear heftily wide,

Seeking to nimbly nibble poplar leaves,

Right beneath a nest the mockingbird weaves

Within branches of a teetering tree

That I may gnaw down, I’ll just wait and see.

 

 

My stubby incisors barely suffices,

Genetic flaw of human devices,

Also leaving a lack of tail since birth,

But my rodent paws have always met earth;

Though my jaw does tire, maybe time to relax,

Maybe later, go and retrieve my ax.