There lives in a forest, a tiny gentle squirrel,
He forages for acorns, and other such nuts,
Oh, look how cute! His little tail curls,
Right back to the top of his butt.

This cuddly little creature, disturbs not a soul!
He scampers into his tree,
He peeks his fuzzy head out from his hole,
And reflects on his daily feed.

But alas, this squirrel is not as it seems,
He feels the itching begin,
His soul divides into two seperate teams,
And we all know who will win.

His shape shifted, he now soars high,
Scanning the fields below,
Nothing escapes his well trained eye,
And the malignancy starts to grow.

There! He spots it! The target of choice,
Wandering just below,
Preparing his talons for the hoist,
The adrenaline starts to flow,

Blackness descends upon the hapless victim,
He's lost inside the enclosing peril,
Perhaps, he thinks, the creature has ditched him,
But feels the sting of an arrow,

He looks up, pain on his face,
Staring right into the eyes,
Of 4 attackers just in case,
The victim tries to hide.

His fear soon lets loose to rage,
He takes his stance, and growls,
Four swords meet with his face,
As he steps back, and howls.

The killing blow comes from his right,
The victim falls to the ground,
The smell of flesh surrounds the site,
And a cheer erupts from the town.

While at night they dream,
The visions of justice dance in their brain,
Startled, awaken, by a scream,
"Quick, the squirrel's been slain!"

The troll looked down, in his hand,
And saw his murderer dead,
He looked up into the sky,
And said, "Me hate squirrels."



Penned by my hand on the 10th of Phaestian, in the year 243 AF.