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Bad Acorns

Bad Acorns

Seasons are fickle
Though days pass, metered like tide.
Some summers prove too short
Winters linger too long
Spring and Fall reduced to fleeting afterthoughts.

The inevitable flux of uneven time comes uninvited.
The effect of a summer night stealing its chill from September
Has a sobering effect.
And perhaps should seem a bad omen
Falling from the sky like so many bad acorns
Delivering poison under the guise of fertility.

The stunted stalks stand almost as a testament
To curtailed crops of the year's opportunities.
The wind howls without a master,
Bringing to sharp relief the chaos and chance of fate.
Some days it brings sweet scents and petals,
Others a downpour of stinging ice.

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