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 innercasing
whose mission was always
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.