Acorn's Fate

Acorn's Fate

A seed sleeps beneath the ancient loam,

An acorn destined to rise and roam,

To stretch its limbs toward heaven's skies,

And whisper wisdom as time flies.

But only if the rain is kind,

If roots find soil soft and lined

With care and light, a steady hand—

Then it may tower, proud and grand.

The soul, too, holds a sacred spark,

A quiet ember in the dark.

Born to bloom, to sing, to soar,

To seek what life was fashioned for.

But if neglect becomes its bed,

And scorn rains down instead of red

Sweet petals kissed by love's embrace,

The soul retreats, leaves little trace.

Harsh words like chains around the mind

Twist thoughts and dreams, cruelly confined.

As feet were bound in ages past,

So minds are shackled, held steadfast.

Yet love, like sun on tender bark,

Can mend a soul once cracked and stark.

Its golden touch, persistent, true,

Revives the roots and breathes anew.

Oh, nurture hearts; let them grow free,

Like mighty oaks from seedling trees.

For souls, unchained, will reach their height,

And stand as forests in the light.