Acorns

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 Inside.