The Last Acorn

Dear soil of the Earth, please hide me. I'm the last one left! I repeat once more, the last one left! I have no legs to crawl and hide. And I'm so easy to spot when I fall. Squirrels with perked-up whiskers pick up my scent. I'm a perennial favorite of theirs, you see. I'm a snack... they enjoy munching on. Or perhaps more than a snack? Aren't I all they eat? Let there be a gale so I'll be blown far out of sight. I'm target no. 1! Let there be a raging flood to wash me away. Why do I always feel like a sitting duck? God willing, I'll grow into an oak tree before a squirrel finds me! I hate feeling the sharp teeth of a rodent digging into me. Oh, the anxiety! The horror! The dreadful anticipation! What the hell makes me so edible anyway? I have no taste! Submitted for.... The Last 1 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco Date written: 12/02/2020 Date originally written: 04/18/2020