to kill a poem

I killed a poem
it was my own undoing
a few great lines
I hid with the shine

like an acorn
I place it in its own realm
under the oaks near the elms

I tossed a bunch of leaves
to splatter more realism there
I hung the moss to filter the suns glare

A victim walked by I snagged,
"See that poetic acorn in all its glory?"
They said, "I see no acorn or poem, sorry!"

I had to retrieve the acorn and said,
"See, a beautiful acorn," as they were going
I killed a beautiful acorn poem