An Indication that I'm still in business

Here is a little poem composed by someone who lives with me and is married too me but will be mortified that I put this up here. So I'll name no names!

Acorns to Oaks

The tiny acorn fell to earth and rolled upon the ground,
Looking for a place to rest, before the sun went down.
A place was offered, soft and warm, on which to lay his head,
Without a thought he covered up, as he lay upon the bed.
The seasons came, the seasons went, with rain and wind and snow,
Inside the tiny cap and shell, his limbs began to grow.
The warming sun encouraged growth, till limbs reached for the sky,
Now this stately oak, freely, gives shade for you and I.

1 comment:

The Warbler said...

Good grief, is there nothing the woman does not do well? This is a wonderful poem. Very Longfellow.