In dusky autumn,
As the leaves burn red,
An acorn falls from the clutches of a great oak

Cushioned gently by the mulch,
Cradled in the dirt,
Leaves fall,
Burying the acorn in a cocoon of earth

The winter winds arrive,
Burying the seed deeper and deeper still,
Consigning it to the dark,
Rain soaking the muddy sarcophagus in which it now lies

In the coldest moment,
The ground is frozen by the wintry night,
As the damp soil expands,
The seed’s shell cracks

As winter’s cold turns to springtime hope,
The ground thaws and the water melts,
Creeping between the smallest fissures,
Igniting life in the acorn’s soul

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From the broken shell of this small nut,
A tiny change occurs,
And the green of life reaches for the light,
Searching for the bright

At once reaching upward,
And both below,
Both for air and water too,
To nourish its transformation

Laying roots so deep and wide,
No hurricane could shake it,
That wonders of the world shall stare,
And gaze upon its splendour

As the shoot should journey up,
Pushing dead leaves aside,
With a soft and relief filled burst of strength,
It burst through the dark night into the light

And shoots to saplings always grow,
Warmed by the summer sun,
Saplings to trees shall too become,
In demonstrated power

In time this tree,
Once acorn small,
Cracked amongst the dirt,
Shall touch the heavens with royal splendour,
Trunk full and wide and strong

Born to stand two hundred years,
Born to show the truth,
That from tiny acorns do indeed,
Grow trees that change the earth

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