Every day she tells me what she loves and what she hates,
And each time a new fold appears on her face,
Such wisdom she holds in her hands as she fixes my plate,
And stares as the day turns away,

She tells me,
See this, look, do not fail me,
For the crushed acorn is worse than the burnt seed,
They both died in the great fire,
Yet the acorn died just as the seed:

The square hat farmer planted the acorn,
The round hat farmer planted the seed,
Both hoping to make a tree,
Both hoping to love what was seen,

The rounded hat turned and said,
“Well I tried my best”,
And the small hat farmer returned,
“Well back to rest”,

A cigarette flickered,
About a mile away,
And set the forest ablaze,

Burnt the tips of the seed,
And crumbled the acorn away.

Micah is currently a high school senior, planning to go to college and major in creative writing.