In Williams' backyard, where squirrels reside,
A bountiful feast of fruit they find,
With nimble paws and eyes so keen,
They gather treasures from trees so fine.
Through branches, they scamper, agile and quick,
Collecting apples, plums, and pears,
In their tiny mouths, a fruitful pick,
To store for colder days and winter snares.
But as time passes, they forget their stash,
And the forgotten fruit begins to decay,
Buried beneath the earth, a secret cache,
Where new life quietly begins to sway.
Come spring, a marvelous sight unfolds,
Strange crossovers of trees, their fruits untold.
Apples grow with pears, and plums intertwine,
A whimsical garden of nature's design,
Where squirrels' forgetfulness births creations rare,
A tapestry of flavors, a sight to share.
The branches bear fruits of mixed heritage,
Each bite, a surprise, a joyful forage,
Sweet and tangy, a harmonious blend,
In this enchanted orchard, the seasons transcend.
The squirrels, unaware of the magic they've sown,
Continue their dance, their secret unknown,
But the backyard blossoms in colors so grand,
A testament to nature's guiding hand.
So let us cherish the squirrels' mistake,
For in their hurry, new wonders awake,
And may we learn from this humble tale,
To embrace the unexpected, and let serendipity prevail.
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