THE ACORN

An acorn on an oak tree grew,

The wind around him gently blew,

It whispered to him quite softly

'Some day from your mother

You will be free

To grow and be a mighty tree'

'Who'? 'Me'? A mighty oak'?

The little acorn thought this a joke.

Cruel autumn wind whistled round

And knocked the acorn to the ground.

A little girl passing by

The small acorn she did spy

She picked it up but let it fall

Down a nearby rabbit hole.

All winter long it lay inside

Soon it withered and turned dry

In the springtime a shoot of green

From the acorn could be seen.

It grew and grew, as years rolled by

Soon it reached up to the sky.

So it was a tale come true

A mighty oak

From the acorn grew ...

Joseph Enright