A great deal of harvesting activity amongst the squirrel population has me often repeating this:
Hurry, hurry, hurry
Squirrel,
Roads aren't meant for you.
Hurry, hurry, hurry,
Squirrel,
I hope that you get through.
These cars are aimed for business
Squirrel,
You're small and nondescript,
And people drive these cars
Dear squirrel,
Their consciousness not tripped
By souls as rare as yours.
So hurry, hurry, hurry
Squirrel,
My heart runs there with you.
I worry, worry, worry
Squirrel,
Oh scurry, scurry – do!
from Moon Madness and Other Skywritings
Over the years people have told me that they never again encounter a squirrel in this situation without thinking of the poem. This gladdens me. Both benefit.