The windy breeze sways the tree from side to side,

The little acorn falls into a pile of crunchy autumn leaves, yet it does not die.

A quick, fluffy squirrel dashes to the acorn, capturing it.

He runs back to his home, placing it next to his scarf-knitting kit. 

 

A gust of wind blows it out of the tree hole,

It stares up at the tree, looking so tall.

Down on the pile of dirt it lays.

For years and years, with cloudy tears, it stays.

 

Soon, however, it starts to grow,

Out of the ground, it starts to glow.

Taller and taller, it gets very big. 

On its branch grows a twig.

 

On that twig grows an acorn, shining bright with pride. 

The windy breeze sways the tree from side to side, 

The little acorn falls into a pile of crunchy autumn leaves, yet it does not die.