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
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