When an acorn dies
we remember the touch, shape, and smell
We cry.
When an acorn dies
only long after
we will notice a towering oak tree
Who will remember the acorn
by a giant oak tree?
Who will cry for the acorn?
Under an oak tree
poets will gather and rest
sing new songs and recite new poems
Nobody will remember the acorn any more
The acorn is still breathing there
when people stop talking about her
Who would feel her then
and smile?
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