I hold the acorn in my hand
And marvel at its destiny
In this brown shell, encased,
The life-force, dormant lies -
The miracle of growth
In earth's dark womb, root-anchored
It will rise with upward thrust towards the light
Will it fulfil divine expectancy?
Will it withstand the buffetings of storms to come?
The winter's blight?
Will lovers yet unborn, in years to come
Carve out their names upon its bark?
Will children dance around its trunk
And old men sit and reminisce
Beneath its shade?
Or will it fail to reach its latent height?
