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