The Acorn Poem by Joseph Enright

An acorn on an oak tree grew,
The wind around him gently blew,
It whispered to him quite softly
'Some day from your mother
You will be free
To grow and be a mighty tree'
'Who'? 'Me'? A mighty oak'?
The little acorn thought this a joke.

Cruel autumn wind whistled round
And knocked the acorn to the ground.
A little girl passing by
The small acorn she did spy
She picked ot up but let it fall
Down a nearby rabbit hole.

All winter long it lay inside
Soon it withered and turned dry

In the springtime a shoot of green
From the acorn could be seen.
It grew and grew, as years rolled by
Soon it reached up to the sky.
So it was a tale come true
A mighty oak
From the acorn grew...........