Jane Dougherty Writes

My first attempt here had too many lines. This is the second attempt, a poem with nine lines. For dverse.

I walked today beneath the oak trees dark,
Boughs heavy with their fruit, a harvest for
The small and humble. Touch the rugged bark
And hear the whisper from the sappy core;
The jay the squirrel, this is all for you,
Smooth satined, take however much you need
Bury some to see the winter through,
Remember that each acorn is a seed—
Dig deep, for this is how the world is treed.

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