The acorn in my pocket
I picked up yesterday
Was strewn amid green shells
Of walnuts I would say
It sat alone forgotten
By the critters in their feast
I trace its shape and edges
Delighted it fell hidden to a crease
It holds memories of my boyhood
After racing on our bikes
We’d lay strewn on grass and leaves
Dishing stories to the night
We’d wander down some alleys
Wrestling for a hidden gem or ball
And peer in neighbors’ windows
When the noises loudly called
The beach was always empty
The waters turned too cold
Summer’s longing barely buried
In copper sands instead of gold
This tiny little acorn
With brown cap upon its head
Holds days so long forgotten
Of autumn oranges and reds
Poetry and Verse 