Acorns from A European Turkey Oak (Quercus cerris)

Little by little," the acorn said,
As it slowly sank in its mossy bed,
"I am improving every day,
Hidden deep in the earth away."
Little by little each day it grew;
Little by little it sipped the dew;
Downward it sent out a threadlike root;
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot,
Day after day, and year after year,
Little by little the leaves appear;
And the slender branches spread far and wide,
Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride...
Anonymous

2 comments:

Barb-Harmony Art Mom said...

We live among oaks but ours are not so fancy as this. The Maidu and Miwok tribes in our area would grind the acorns for food and the grinding rocks are still here for us to see.

Thanks for the poem.

Barb-Harmony Art Mom

BChsMamaof3 said...

what a lovely poem :)
Have a wonderful weekend,
Rosina