The ancient oak has again
birthed a shower of acorns
in the expectation that
one or two of them
will find fertile soil
will plant themselves, grow
become the next generation
of oaks. This is the Way.
One generation, as part of its
process, sows seed
continuity confirmed.
The poet too reaches into his roots
scatters words and thoughts
in the expectation
that one or two
will imbed themselves
in the rich humus
of a hearer's heart
grow there to weave a chain
winding backward and forward
through chapter and verse
of the human story.
Listen carefully then, for you
may be the one,
propelling the poem
singing the song
in an entirely different key
feeding, with your fallen acorns
squirrels and chipmunks and souls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Clever analogy. See Aristotle on the acorn as paradigm of 'nisus.'