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by Nic East

Tap, tap on my studio roof,
What makes that hard edged sound?
Is it hail that's slowly falling,
Or small meteors coming down?

I went outside to look and see,
Way up in the tall oak trees,
Squirrels were shaking branches,
Like tree trimmers in the breeze.

Upon the ground, and all around,
Like drifts of small green balls,
I see them in their millions,
Acorns dropping, bouncing off my walls

Tap, tap on my studio roof,
Again I heard that sound with dread,
I fantasize the sky is falling,
Ouch! An acorn hits me on the head!

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