If'n I was a leaf, I would be the rusty golden gal upon the mighty oak tree.
Just call me Quercus, why don't cha.
The imperfections on my surface only allows more of the sun's rays to shine upon you.
When on your woodland walk you ignore me,
I command your attention by popping you on the head with one of my acorns.
You'll listen to me then.
When the autumnal wind calls my name,
and it is time for me to leave,
See me flutter my fingers
and wave bye-bye.
(Photo taken today upon the grounds of the Hickory Ridge Homestead.)
