Armed in a cover of brown He wears a tiny cap, He wants to be like his father Who towers over the map. His strength in not as nearly focused, As it surely needs to be But he is going to try his best So his dad can see. He is tossed around and tussled And kicked quite a few times Stepped on, dragged, and even picked up By people not-so-kind. He is then buried in the dark So that he may flame and toil on getting out, of breaking free, From that ice-cold soil. His attempts are weak, And misdirected, He can’t feel the sun, The soul’s dejected. He gives up hope And closes his heart Saying bye to earth, Where is he to depart? But suddenly, he breaks free,
pushing away the pain
Pulling through the earth
So he may see the sky again.
In ecstasy he spreads his limbs and
Forgets things all forlorn
For he has proved he is a tree,
This determined little acorn.
