American Life in Poetry: Chipmunk
By Ted Kooser
I love to sit outside and be very still until some little creature appears and begins to go about its business, and here is another poet, Robert Gibb, of Pennsylvania, doing just the same thing.
For the Chipmunk in My Yard
I think he knows I'm alive, having come down
The three steps of the back porch
And given me a good once over. All afternoon
He's been moving back and forth,
Gathering odd bits of walnut shells and twigs,
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