Providence has yet to introduce us but,

I know you.


You think,

Squirrels have shunned you,

Bitter defaced acorn,

Because your flavor is not appealing.

I know.


You think,

Nature has no use for you,

Wounded misunderstood acorn,

And soil knows not how to help you grow.

I know.


I know,

You cannot fathom the serenity of a canopy,

Without first surviving debasement at the bottom.

Acorn my acorn,

You think,

That since my bark is strong and I stand so tall,

That I have never been cut down.

But we both have bled a river for this forest.


You think,

You are beaten and you feel defeated,

Helpless injured acorn,

Because grace has ignored you.

I know.


You are not alone,

Lonely acorn you are contused.

Burrow your roots deeper than your scars.

Once your branches become the sky,

All the shattered battered and fallen will look to you as proof,

That they too are bruised but not yet broken.


I look to you,

To know your struggle,

For you already know mine.



                                    Crooked Oak Tree


-Joel(Joel is a Direct Care Associate Supervisor)