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Poem

Seasons pass away little by little
time moves hour by hour
Within your branches, your hearth of leaves 
I wait in patience, moment by moment
years turn decades, nurtured in hope
rolling in your epochs of excitement 
murmuring in your sighs of endowment
Yes, at last... the first acorn is born 
nestled in your sturdy arms, I hang on 
a mighty code etched within my heart
a passionate life packed within my soul
an embedded oak  weaves silver dreams.
all compressed, and then I fall...
My shell wailing the hit,  hardness of a thud
No shade , no comfort, no more birdsongs
On a  ground of dirt laid a bushel of acorns
Scattered hither and thither, broken wreckage
remnant memories of sweet honeybees
hammock swinging close to our boughs
Is this our graveyard? 
cries of  siblings dissipate in crisp air.
No, please let me live once more.
woodpecker's beak I travel unknown lands
a solitary tree, ..a scampering squirrel
swashed in a lake , strewed amid grass
random winds of luck to a mossy rabbit hole.

Seasons pass away little by little.
time moves hour by hour.
Life sprouts a tiny shoot, a thread like root
I wait in patience, moment by moment
years turn decades, a strong oak stands to tell
an acorn rose and fell,...long story in a nutshell.


23rd April 2020

Sponsor	John lawless
Contest Name	The Last Acorn

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