The acorn doesn’t fall Far from the tree

The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.

A squirrel sees a chance
And grabs it.

On a branch
A blackbird sings 

Within, the old oak 
grow concentric rings;
The arboreal  history remains 
Therein, 
A lifetime in the grains.

What is its age, I wonder?
I hear thunder
And it rains.

A fox sits under 
The sheltering bough
Of the great oak 
Tall and strong 
(To fell it down would be wrong)
No! Don’t joke!
It was an acorn e’re long
Before you or I or the fox were born
(or Henry the eighth, for that matter)

The fox sees me in the wood
And I think,
‘Wow!
This is good.
I’ll make him into a silver ring.’

And I carve the fox with a wooden handled file.
In wax.


Lesley Scoble October 2022