Written by: Abi Morgan

You are sad, ill-suited to the late autumn sun
Resting in a light blue sun as wisps of cloud
Are blown gently along, only just moving.
Wanting to reach out and touch you,
But afraid I will only make things worse - 
A speciality of mine I think, even managing
To mar the beautiful afternoon with words
Words repeated too often, words
Hollow and empty like the cracked acorns
Which I tread on, feeling them through my shoes
Selfishly destroying nature
Typically selfish...this started off about you
And ends with you standing by the wooden gate
Looking. Watching. Searching? 
Trying to seek out something in the warped form
Stood before you,
Crumpled and cracked like the acorns 
Which the dog clamps merrily between her teeth
White and smiling, unaware,
Jaws scissoring around the tough outer
In the hope of finding something better