Grey Squirrel

This common creature from hunters hiding
From cartridges and bullets still hiding

Classified vermin. Its open season
On the grey coat from destruction hiding

Scratching for food before hibernation
Supplies for winter carefully hiding

By all its fellow creatures undisturbed
Only from mankind in terror hiding

And I David walking in my garden
Sense the squirrel from my sharp eyes hiding.


The confident magpie wears white and black
Smarter than the raven's monochrome black

Arrives alone sometimes in company
Always mysterious in bow of black

Looks for champagne, catches the barman's eye
Glimpses at the table red, green and black

Smiles at the croupier, begins to flutter
Bets all on one colour, all on the black

And I David, tired of always losing
Toast the magpie as the ball lands on black.


The poor rat is despised, hated by all
Regarded as the filthiest of all

Lured by traps, hunted down, shot or poisoned
Condemned to suffer the worst pains of all

In sewer pipes or beneath rotting floors
Those places that are repugnant to all

Guilty only of scavenging for food
The rat moves in fear, a target for all

And I David feel only sympathy
For the wretched rat, not evil at all.

David Subacchi lives in Wales (UK) where he was born of Italian roots. He tries to write poetry in as many different forms as possible. He studied at the University of Liverpool and Cestrian Press has published his last three collections FIRST CUT (2012), HIDING IN SHADOWS (2014) and NOT REALLY A STRANGER (2016). BLOG AND FURTHER INFORMATION: