Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Green Acorns

scattered on the sidewalk
early harbingers of autumn
scarred by squirrel teeth.

Unripe fruit is bitter,
curses the branch that let it fall too soon
to lie rotting in the rain.

No green stem sprouts from
the unready seed, but this poem
curls up like a brown leaf.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

1 comment:

Stacey @ Entropified said...

Oh no, it doesn't. :)