By Michael Murphy

In the dense forest of Familiarland,
there a mighty tree did stand.
The tree was an oak, brave and strong,
Sparrows made perch, and sang their song.
The forest grew wild, with no control,
and the animals there, lived free to stroll.

One fine day an acorn did fall,
The beginnings of greatness, begin so small,
As the acorn lay on the floor alone,
The storms came fierce, the shell did moan.
Then came the rot, unfolding the plot,
Of the circle of life, which soon be wrought.

Though decay seemed to have its hold,
It soon sprang forth so brave and bold,
And out of the shell the seed did fall,
To begin the path, to grow straight and tall.

Into the soil and under the ground,
The oak found the place from which to bound.
As the sapling started to reach up high,
The sun reached down to bring it nigh.

The struggle, the heat, the wind, the cold,
The future now clear, waiting to behold,
In the warmth of the spring time sky,
The oak did climb, tho small and shy.

And then one day, in Familiarland,
There a mighty tree did stand.
That tree was an oak, brave and strong,
Sparrows made perch and sang their song.

There are oaks in acorns, considering their plight,
Life’s brought its toll, its fears, its fight,
But lying deep aside the fright,
The vision awaits in the inward sight.

Within your soul, you may feel torn,
Facing life’s toils, and its daunting scorn,
Within your heart, you’re waiting to be born,
You are the great oak, asleep in the acorn.


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