Her precious face beneath a little hat
pursued in vain by twitching nose and tail
with bulging eyes and looming teeth, this Scrat;
from mountains high to caverns deep, he trails.

Divine his missing nut, so smooth and round,
his sun on cloudy days; for her he fights,
and fillets the piranhas on the ground
to protect Missy Acorn, love and light.

On foreign beach she waits, without cravat,
and later flies to hungry baby beaks,
then lightning flashes, leaving crispy Scrat;
but first, at least, he made the ice-dam leak.

His devotion as pure as oceans are deep
at even Peter’s gates, for her, he leaps.