Analysis of The Acorn's Tree.

I thought you'd thrive under my arm.
Little branch of an acorn tree.
Your leaves used to shine with merry charm.
You looked so strong with me.
I carried you down my lonely street.
And planted you firmly on your feet.
But the weather turned you white with disease.
It puts my heart ill at ease.
Maybe you'll come back to please.
And rise in glorious springtime breeze.
For now I do not realise your potential.
Perhaps one day you'll seem substantial.