'Like a small grey coffee-pot...'

 The grey squirrels in the garden continue their relentless campaign to secure all the birds' food for themselves. They still haven't cracked the 'squirrel-proof' feeder, but their latest victory was to take down a large new feeder – a Christmas present – that had been hanging barely half an hour in an apparently secure position. Having done that, they seem not to have got much farther, the feeder being too sturdy to be dismantled, and the contents proving elusive. I shall hang it up again today and see what happens this time...
Meanwhile, I just happened upon this little poem by Humbert Wolfe:

The Grey Squirrel

Like a small grey
coffee-pot,
sits the squirrel.
He is not

all he should be,
kills by dozens
trees, and eats
his red-brown cousins.

The keeper on the
other hand,
who shot him, is
a Christian, and

loves his enemies,
which shows
the squirrel was not
one of those.

Wolfe (born on this day in 1885) was a poet, very popular in his day (his collection Requiem still turns up in charity bookshops), who was also a senior civil servant and something of a man of letters. Today he is best remembered for one epigram (from The Uncelestial City) – 

You cannot hope
to bribe or twist,
thank God! the
British journalist.
But, seeing what
the man will do
unbribed, there's
no occasion to.