The Last Acorn
I shiver beneath a frozen sky of milky gray and white
and like a little rabbit whos barely grown into his coat
I linger in the forest bristling like a dry piece of wood
I was detached from my father like a youngling discomfit
I come from a prideful bush of green but its not who I am
settling down under, on a large tuft of mulch
I am the last living acorn settled no longer in the air
but when Autumn sings her song of mellifluous swell
I seem to outlast every flower of her time
Life is but a series of spurts, growths, windy dances
let it be said, " the apple doesn't fall far from the tree"
but neither does the acorn as far as the eye can see
I shiver beneath a frozen sky of milky gray and white
I'm not a blade of grass, nor an eagle, nor an elk
I am an acorn with a little french beret, …
April 17, 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment