The red squirrel is terrorizing
the gray squirrel at the feeder;
neither knows that tomorrow . . .
this will all change.
The brown pond is refreezing
over dozing fish and frogs;
none know that tomorrow . . .
this will all change.
The Aztecs cycled through
two calendars, 360 and 365
days, which aligned to restart
once every 52 years,
and today some 40 different calendars
diverge on the date of the new year:
youths lollygagging into the year 26;
elders dragging past the year 7000.
Unlike us, the flora and fauna
non-mathematical,
will be nonplussed when tomorrow. . .
nothing changes.
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