This time last year I was in the western Lake District, where native red squirrels still thrive, (possibly thanks to the game wardens). The poem below is about the successful invader, the grey squirrel. I'll put a photo on facebook.

GARDEN MYSTERIES

Why two red tulips among the yellow?
And why one yellow among the red?
And why one glorious golden fellow
Lonely, in my neighbour’s flowerbed?

Why the neat holes that scatter the lawn?
New chestnut sprouting under the swing?
What mischief done before the dawn
Has soundlessly rearranged everything?

Sometimes we see his feathery silver
Balance and float through the winter trees;
Or watchful still, through frosty shiver,
Grey squirrel, active despite the freeze;

Clutching a nut, like a bright-eyed statue,
But brown eyes restless, always alert;
Hop, skip, pause: still more nuts to rescue?
Leaping faultlessly over the dirt;

Endless activity, graceful, unhurried,
The ghostly gardener alters our schemes.
Collecting, digging, retrieving what’s buried:
Will he open new vistas or scatter our dreams?