Mary Taylor Poet Personification

The Last Acorn

My oak tree is budding
Early in the time of spring
And when those buds grow big
An acorn is what it brings

As an acorn, I hang high
Looking down upon the land below
At times I often wonder 
Will I be an oak tree when I grow?

Or will I be the nourishment
To the those that live in the trees
Such as birds, possums, squirrels
And animals such as these

Or will I be a home for 
a weevil larvae inside
Sleeping till I hit the ground 
Waking up from this wild ride

One by one, I watch all of 
my family members fall
Nows there's not many acorns
Not many left up here at all

And now for the very first time 
ever since I the day was born
I have begun to wonder
Will I be the last acorn?
4/26/2020

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