Wise (an acrostic poem)

person holding gray twist pen and white printer paper on brown wooden table

Words tumbled from his fingers and pooled upon the page

Irrigating the fertile ground allowing new thoughts to take root

Slowly those ideas grow tall and strong, awaiting harvest

Examining his crop, he began harvesting those who’s time had come and pruning the rest

Roots (an acrostic poem)

 

Reaching down to find your center

Obtaining nutrients from the fertile soil around you

Organizing and grounding in your immediate world

Though you sway in the winds of change

Serenity is yours because your anchors run deep

 

Image: cff2.earth.com/uploads/2018/12/26100659/How-plants-alter-their-roots-to-adjust-to-soil-moisture–730×410.jpg

Costly (an acrostic poem)

Casualty numbers kept trickling in

Obscuring the greatness of the victory

Still, Vincent had to admit he’d lost over a quarter of his troops

They sold their lives dearly though

Littering the fertile fields with their enemy’s dead

Years later the soil still held the scent of their sacrificial blood

 

Image: medievalchronicles.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/battle-agincourt-king-henry.jpg

Shout (an acrostic poem)

Standing firm in what he knew he needed to do, oblivious of physical demands

He loudly proclaimed his message of doom to all those that would hear

Obviously ignoring to the snickers and rude comments of the passers-by

Unable to understand why his message did not find fertile soil

The stain on his trousers spoke louder.

 

Image: media.pennlive.com/opinion/photo/11978680-large.jpg