Burrows mounded to a roil
Squirrels grounded stir up soil
Down ev’ry bed-row you can see
Remnants of the feeding frenzy
They prey upon the youngest plants
New leaves don’t stand the slightest chance
They’ve eaten all the tender shootsWe’ll have to cover them with hoops
If hoops don’t work we’ll have to pray
The mustard leaves keep them at bay
If mustard fails we’ll set up traps
Unless the triggers won’t collapse
If that’s the case we’ll have to quit
Let go and let God handle it
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