Poems about squirrels, please, 3Q.

Love is like a squirrel. The tall buildings in the city stand in the reinforced concrete jungle. I can't find the squirrel's footprints anymore. I drove to the Woods far away from the suburbs of the city for an outing and came to an uninhabited path. The scenery on the roadside is very beautiful. I want to stop and watch, but I am afraid I will lose the beauty of this moment. I had to slam on the gas pedal and sob my past regrets. . . I found something moving along the road in the distance. Flying by, I found the squirrel in the whole cold temperate forest on the earth. It grabs the walnut with its claws to eat and walk. Whenever your mind wants to caress it, this little thing escapes without a trace. That's what squirrels do. They need to take good care of them to be afraid of you. Whenever the fruit is ripe, it will jump from branch to branch with walnuts in its mouth. It's time to store food for next winter. My dearest friends, do you feel the same regret when your love slips away like the fall of a squirrel? Distance and time are the coldest killers of love, and they will let love slip away from you when you least expect it. All we can do is pet the squirrel gently. If you can't catch it, you have to let it go.