An Acorn's Story

Long ago my mother tree, grew an acorn, that was me.
I fell onto the dusty ground where I just rolled round and round.

A hungry squirrel had her eye on me,
a juicy little morsel for her tea.
She approached with the intention of wolfing me down.
Until a bigger squirrel came along, eyebrows raised with a deadly frown.

In the hubub and kerfuffle, I rolled right under some rubble.
Dark and warm between those bricks,
just the place I would have picked.
I sent my root to explore the soil, to anchor me firmly in place,
where the squirrel cannot find me, I haven't left a trace.

Through the winter I rest and sleep, drinking every now and then.
As spring creeps across the forest floor I find myself awake again.
My shell makes an awful sound as it cracks and falls onto the ground.
I stretch young shoots to find some light, to feed me from the warm sunlight.

Beginnings of a tree that is me.

I have been left alone, and a few years on I have grown.
Next to me stands a mighty oak tree, if I am lucky that could be me.
The seasons gently come and go, woodland plants putting on show after show.

One winter's day as I slumbered, I felt a hand softly stroke my bark.
One man points and calls to another, 'This one would look grand in the park!!'
I am dug around and ripped up from the ground.
From that safe place which I had found.

I am shaking and rumbling along in a truck.
Discarding roots and plenty of muck.
Finally we come to rest, and wait for it, this part is the best.

Carried gently to my new home, lowered carefully into a pre-dug hole.
From where they had recently evicted an angry mole.
Space and light abound, in this new home that I have found.
This is just the place for me.

 

It is where I will become a mighty oak tree.

 

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw