Village Idiot Publishing (C) 2000 Diary of a Spirit
MISSING PECANS
Fall is the time, when we reap our many efforts,
And seek to know the joy, of our work.
And though nature takes its course,
And generally does the work,
we still seek, to help it along the way.
The watering of the trees,
To give them what they need,
To bring forth the fruits,
Which we hope will last us,
Though the year.
But nature has it's way, of shattering all our dreams,
Of tables filled with products from the earth.
It is a time of triumph,
When we see the nuts fall down,
But that demon we call weather
Can spoil it all.
This year the frost came early,
And the blooms may well be spoiled,
And all could be a waste until next year.
So we sit and wait with sorrow,
And hope our prayers will bring,
The blessing that we need to carry on.
But soon we'll know for certain,
If our efforts are in vain,
Or whether things won't work out like we want.
This woman that I know, she says it's all but lost;
Because the hoodlums came and took them all.
But I just can't say it's possible,
Although it could be true;
That someone came and took them in the night.
The frost came early this year,
And it seems it could have harmed,
The fruits she waits so patiently to reap.
And sad as it is, it is her only joy,
To make the pies that brighten up her life.
Old age can be brutal,
When there's nothing left to do,
And people think that you're useless and a bore.
But certain things are endless,
like a woman's love for her trees,
And the endless days of labor
To keep them well.
But who could dare to think this way,
And rob her of her joy,
And take that which she waits so long to see.
To make her feel she's useless,
With nothing else to do;
Save sit around and wait another year.
I wish I knew for sure, if someone did this thing,
So l could teach them a lesson,
That they'd never forget.
But who am I to judge what really caused this thing,
The frost was early, and it seems it was the cause;
But the other trees in the neighberhood, aren't lacking,
And it seems that they should be.
So I think there's something to it after all.
I can't say it for certain, that someone didn't care,
If an old woman's pastime, was made a wreck.
But I wonder how she'll make it,
With nothing else to do,
Save looking at her trees in deep remorse.
So I guess I'll go and buy some,
And ask her to make some pies,
And maybe it will help her feel alive.
And maybe through my efforts,
I'll find a brand new friend,
And maybe make an old woman smile.