In the corner of the garden
Behind the brush and trees
Past the boughs laden heavy
with newly budded leaves
There sits a little acorn
Buried just beneath the grass
And with the warm spring sunshine
It begins to sprout at last
An observant child wanders
Past the brush and trees
To that corner of the garden
Just as the sun reaches its peak
The little sprout begins to wither
Under the pressing heat
Unseen in the corner it calls home
All drooping and alone
Then once more the child meaders
Following the same old trail
But clutched in his hands
the child now holds a pail
And in that corner of the garden
The child kneels low
And carefully waters the little sprout
Until it begins to grow
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