Hanging out with my acorn friends,
Riding wild winds on writhing limbs
As round capped surfers without boards
I laughed loud when I watched them fall.
Looking up with faces of despair
They could but see my derriere.
As a swinger without a care
I felt loved by the rushing air.
My oak looked haggard when I fell
Its arthritic limbs beseeching
Each passing cloud that drifted by:
Could this acorn be another me?
Copyright © David Drowley | Year Posted 2020
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