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" . . . The Acorn's Tale"

Kenneth has a taste for abstract/prose poetry as well as the comical side of life. 23-years of writing for a newspaper has served him well.

Oak acorn, Quercus Robur

Oak acorn, Quercus Robur

I fell suddenly, silently, without purpose or net
No fear, no tear, just another obscure acorn.
Landing harshly, I lay quietly ne'er making a sound
Only an obscure acorn laying on the ground.

Time crept o'er me as I slept a sleep so still
Young lads, the rascal imps, got a secret thrill.
Throwing rocks at feeding deer up a grassy hill
Then rolling, laughing taking childish spill.
I'm only a thankful acorn laying here still.

The lads grew to men ne'er came again
While I felt black sod pushing me down.
Brown hat, coat, looking so proud.
I am only an acorn growing proudly in the ground.

Summer rains, winter pains, freezing to the touch
Some of those like me gave up life they loved much.
But still I grew, tasted *Her dew, felt resurrection so new
No longer an acorn beast's teeth can chew.

Time again crept somehow slowing without reason
Ne'er speaking my name as seasons grew then faded.
I wondered at why *She made such a grotesque piece
Limp, shape so skimp, not fit for a cripple's limp.

I forget just when I stopped yearning to know why
If I, once nameless acorn, would stand then die.
Storms came, lover's maimed ne'er asked if they could
Sit staring in hearts of sickness, pressed hard against my wood.

Time then spoke one blustery eve with clouds to poke
"Shun your fearful look--stand proud you've roots to dote
Only now you will soon be with fires men stoke
No more acorn laying in the sod,
But a majestic Oak, an humble Oak, no more steps to trod."

* Her, She - - metaphors for Mother Nature.

Majesty tall

Majesty tall

© 2016 Kenneth Avery

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