By Fred Miller

What a queer little fellow you are,
your head cocked in question to my presence.
If toe pads I had, I’d leap to your perch
to see what you world’s all about.
Do I hear a click, a chirp?
In defiance of me, I suspect.
Oh, I’d lift that tail to show who’s who
if unaware of your ability to lose it in retreat.
Nocturnal you are,
no doubt in pursuit of wee pests in our midst.
T’is no wonder my esteem for you swells,
ridding the quarter of mosquitoes and such.
My face, my size pique your interest?
Chirp away, dear friend.
Fresh honor dwells within for gentle souls such as you.

Fred Miller is a California writer. His first work was chosen by Constance Hunting, the New England Poet Laureate in 2003. Over fifty of his stories and poems have appeared in publications around the world. Many may be seen on his blog:

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