small logging towns aren’t a place for acorns
the clay soil can only hold pine
acorns get lost here
covered under mud
stepped over and on by steel toed boots
watered by only the rain
no nurturing hand to help
not a place for an acorn at all

escape is a crow
snatching the nut in its beak
flying over mountains and rivers
eventually dropping the nut
descending down to a city park

here the soil is just right
mulch and compost
water comes once a day
like clockwork
feet step around
a good place to take root

in this nurturing place
a few years down the road
branches grew sturdy
bark is thick
leaves block out the sun
birds make nest here
children climb
picnics take place below

to the acorns delight
they've grown into a place
where others can thrive