“A Secret,” Friend, Oct. 1983, 13
A Secret
The squirrel knows a secret.
He whisks up a tree
And stops on a limb
To chatter at me.
The rumor is rustling
In orange and brown,
And trees nod their heads
As the leaves flutter down.
In wild, honking wedges
The geese leave no doubt.
Winter is coming!
The secret is out.