Listen to Linda Pastan read this poem.

a rat-tat-tat
like gunfire
on the tin roof
are falling
all from a single
tree, a  barrage
of acorns
covers the grass
with shells, acorns
as hard as the
casings of bullets
their noisy artillery
keeping us up
at night
so many acorns
all from one tree
as rookies:
their thwack
after thwack at
batting practice
where are the squirrels?
the gardeners
with rakes?
the farmgirls
their aprons brimming
with acorns to grind
into meal?
the dog cowers
beside the house
the cat hides
under the car
afraid of
the clattering hooves
of acorns
later big oaks
will grow, a forest
of oak trees their roots
will strangle
this house
listen, listen
all from a single