I have been barking up the wrong tree.
One of the squirrels has just informed me.
"The only thing up here is me and my nest;
not quite set for winter but I'm doing my best.
There're no other creatures: not a bird nor a cat,
so I cannot imagine what you're barking at.
It started out fine when you just sniffed around,
but your barking is noisy! I can't stand the sound!
When I'm in my tree it's not nearly so bad,
but out here on the limb you sound injured and sad.
I'm really quite busy with my plans for the fall.
I really don't think I can help you at all.
I don't know what you want and don't know what to say,
but it sure would be nice if you'd just run away."
I said to the squirrel, "There's nothing you can do,
I just wanted a friend... I was barking at you."
A tragic story of courage and strength
versus a comedy of errors known only for its length.
A pure-hearted hero who lost the good fight
or a jester who never did anything right.
A life filled with goodness in service to others,
or a life lived with wants, regrets and d'ruthers.
The face of an angel, the soul of a saint,
beside a visage of sadness hidden under paint.
The love of a kingdom, the praise of good friends.
drowns the laughter of the crowd that fades in the end.
With such grace and beauty remembered there,
how can the other ever compare?
melancholy 
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