Rocked by a wind-sung lullaby,
encased in a protective crib,
the sharp-tipped acorn announces
it’s time to leave the shell.
There’s no attachment
to its rough outer-covering
or smooth inner–casing whose mission
was always to let you go.
Once fallen, the seed takes root
as Nature propagates her majesty
in thousands of acorns from a single oak
like notes of a musician, birthing beauty.
I’ll take those odds.