Survival of the Fittest

The fruit did not survive the rape;
The birds took every single grape.
It's not the birds, but I to blame;
God treats us all the very same.
He gave us all the ready sign;
The birds obeyed, I ignored mine.

I knew the ripening was due,
But days were busy, hours were few
For me to take my plucking shears
And pick the heavy laded spears.
I toyed with them, had a taste
And vowed that none would go to waste.

I waited for the sun to shine
When leisurely, I would pick mine
And then allow the birds the few
That for my purpose, would not do.
Those birds were much more sly than I.
They knew those grapes were for to die.

Now as I wipe away a tear,
"I will do better, come next year."

Joyce 10/26/03