By Sarah Levesque (Rated G)
Oak trees like bombers
Soaring toward the sky
Laden with burdens
To loose upon the unsuspecting below.
Suddenly, a release!
And all the missiles fall.
Lighter now, the bearer kisses the clouds
Unconcerned with the fate of the unsuspecting below.
The unsuspecting cringe
Under the deadly hail;
Flinging up hands to ward them
Ducking down below.
Knowing natives laugh
At visitor’s consternation and alarm
As they look up, wide eyed,
And slip on those below.
This is a New England autumn:
Acorns overhead,
Acorns underfoot,
Acorns away!
LogoSophia Magazine 
Delightful! Thank you!
One of my earliest memories is of running to my mother for comfort because the oak tree by the door hurt me with its acorns.
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