Like an acorn fallen below
A wooden fence,
I am still within my shell.
I am small and surrounded by
Everything tall—like the
Fiddlehead ferns that laugh
And curl, or the red clover
That brightens lush fields;
I am a seed, starting from
The bottom but I'll be complete
One day—much taller than the
Ferns and clover and even
The fence which will one day
Be waterlogged but I will
Sip from the storms and
I will be what others have said
I would never be.