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 innercasing 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.