Title: Airborne Acrobat
The branch curving down as I make for the end
First a bough, then a stick, then a twig with a bend--
And it's takeoff! I'm flying, the air rushing by
Fur rippling, tail ruffling, ears flat as I fly
But this Lindbergh's a gymnast, with no wings to soar
And in moments I'm perched on a limb, as before.
A rustle of leaves and a chittering soft:
Wings or not, I'm still up here, soaring aloft.