by Santiago Lake
The following poem is copyright protected and any use of this work without the permission of the author is expressly prohibited.
Alone in a meadow Grantor stands in exuberant jubilee,
The sun has shown another day to his extended family.
A warm wind blows through blades of grass who stand in wavering
poses,
And drink in their love of life from violets to wild red roses.
Grantor looks upon his flock, "the little ones" as
they're known,
Their splendidly vibrant colors remind him of how they've grown.
Their tiny buds now in bloom, their surfaces gleaming bright,
The sun paints brilliant pictures of love, with its warm and nourishing
light.
As days and nights go swiftly by, the sky turns shades of gray,
The wind blows slightly cooler now, and darkness ends each day.
As weather changes so does mood as Grantor looks behind,
The little ones of generations past and sadness are all he finds.
Each passing day brings forth bad thoughts of solitude and
departure,
Grantor has no mate to love, for him cupid is no archer.
The little ones are all he has for good companionship,
But one moment they bloom and then they die, their lives but a
rapid trip.
Soon the little ones that alive today would follow their long
lost brothers,
Yet Grantor finds no solace at all as he is like so many others.
Year by year as seasons change, Grantor stands alone.
Animated by the brief time the little ones call him their home.
Soon the first snowflake falls and Grantor realizes this is
the end,
That he is alone an empty home and winter must now begin.
Off in the distance a son discusses Grantor's look with his
dad,
"Look at that, his colors gone and his whole world seems
so sad."
"My dear lad." His father replied. "You know
that just can't be."
"Doesn't possess any feelings at all, my son, its only a
tree."