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
“And I carve the fox with a wooden handled file In wax.”
“I’ll make him into a silver ring”
Lesley Scoble Jewellery Making
I wrote my poem THE ACORN FELL FAR FROM THE TREE in response to Sadje’s WDYS Prompt to write something inspired by this photo of a woodworking workshop or store. The picture makes me think of trees… and wood… and oaks… and acorns…
LesleyScoble.com 
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