An Acorn feels Prejudice

May 10, 2010
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Down, Down, down.
The wind blows me
Away, away;
Drops me roughly
On a field.
A wide expanse of

The little seeds
And yellow flowers
Look at me
I’m not one of them.
I’m an acorn.
Who are you?
Why are you here?
They ask.
Go back.
You’re not one of us.

You’re so ugly.
Brown, big, capped.
Not like us.
No, No.
Go away.
You’re weird.

It makes me feel sad.
I can’t go back, I say.
Go back, go back.
You’re ugly.
And you’re probably stupid to.

And the rain begins.
The crystal drops seep down
I feel stronger.
The sun shines
Beats down with its golden rays.
I’ll show you, I think.
I’ll show you.
Time flutters by
On its invisible wings.
I am an oak tree.

Wow, they say.
You’re so fine and big and handsome.
With your sweeping branches
And healthy leaves.

I look down at them.
The puny things
That had thought themselves
Superior to me.
See, I say.
I work hard,
And become this.
And what are you?
I’m not stupid and ugly.
Different isn’t bad.
Now all of you respect me.
All you down there,
Aren’t insulting me now.

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