Autumn's Seed

Last night I was an acorn,
with a dream of mighty oak
locked inside my shell.

I rode on crests and troughs
of gray November wind,
impatient to be torn
from a twig rustling
with the brown curl
of leaves.

How glorious a moment
when I struck ground,
tumbled down a hill
far from the tree
who grew me.

I came to rest in sunshine
beside a cold, clear stream.

There I slept
and dreamt
of springtime,
a time to drink deep
and unfurl my tender
green fingers.

Scott Speck
09/28/2002