Every Parable Is Just

A runty chipmunk,
The usual stripes,
Fur a bit ratty
And more grey then brown
Ran past a few feet,

And no one noticed
Until it scampered
Out and turned around
To get a good look,
Maybe try to beg?

What are you doing?
Someone asked softly,
While the rest kept up
Dawn conversations
Over their coffees.

Chipmunk said nothing,
Of course, merely turned
And ran to the pines.
Somewhere there’s a nest
That should be well-stocked

With pine nuts and moss,
But we imagine
It lined with countless
Pilfered phrases stashed
To outlast a life.