Rocked by 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 it 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.