The Acorn

The Acorn by Francis William Bourdillon

An acorn swung

On an oak-tree bough;

So long it had hung,

It would fain fall now

To the kindly earth,

That its germ within

Might burst into birth,

And its life begin.

And the autumn came

With its burning hand,

And each leaf grew a flame,

And each bough a brand.

And a worm came up

And began to eat

Through the hard, dry cup

To the acorn sweet.

And the acorn thought,

“I shall soon see now

The life I have sought,

When I fall from the bough;

For the worm gnaws through

Each tendon slight,

That about me grew,

And bound me tight.”

And with dying day

Came the zephyr’s sound;

And the acorn lay

Next morn on the ground;

But its germ was gone

By the worm’s sharp teeth;

And the ground it had won

Was its grave in death. 

I love this poem, perfect to memorize this time of year.  

What I love:  the alliteration, the exquisite imagery, the meaningful symbolism, and the engaging content for even the little ones.