ampoule
10-02-2007, 08:51 AM
The Mean Bean
It was just a bean, or so I thought.
It looked like all the other beans but something beckoned me to pick it up,
to hold it in my hand and look more closely.
There was a wrinkle here and a mark there.
This bean definitely had a story to tell, and so, I bought it.
I took it home and laid it on the kitchen table and looked at it for a long time,
wondering where I should plant it.
Finally, I decided to plant it in my most fertile place, my heart.
Every ounce of my being opened up when I felt its roots tenderly taking hold.
I was tickled with joy when I felt the opening sprout.
I fed it with devotion,
grow little bean, grow, you are such a miracle to me.
It grew green and the tiny tendrils began feeling their way,
searching for something to cling to.
I stood straight and tall and opened my arms, gently pushing myself against the stalk,
hoping to be its trellis.
My lips brushed against its tiny leaves,
My tears provided the secret moisture and I spoke to it so sweetly and truthfully,
But it would not take hold of me.
This was a mean bean that had set its sight on other trellises,
Higher trellises than I could ever be.
Little did it know that every time it leaned away from my care,
it became weaker, shorter.
No Jack will ever get very far climbing this stalk.
Never mind, I smiled, I already have the Golden Harp.
amp, May Tenth, TwoThousandSix
It was just a bean, or so I thought.
It looked like all the other beans but something beckoned me to pick it up,
to hold it in my hand and look more closely.
There was a wrinkle here and a mark there.
This bean definitely had a story to tell, and so, I bought it.
I took it home and laid it on the kitchen table and looked at it for a long time,
wondering where I should plant it.
Finally, I decided to plant it in my most fertile place, my heart.
Every ounce of my being opened up when I felt its roots tenderly taking hold.
I was tickled with joy when I felt the opening sprout.
I fed it with devotion,
grow little bean, grow, you are such a miracle to me.
It grew green and the tiny tendrils began feeling their way,
searching for something to cling to.
I stood straight and tall and opened my arms, gently pushing myself against the stalk,
hoping to be its trellis.
My lips brushed against its tiny leaves,
My tears provided the secret moisture and I spoke to it so sweetly and truthfully,
But it would not take hold of me.
This was a mean bean that had set its sight on other trellises,
Higher trellises than I could ever be.
Little did it know that every time it leaned away from my care,
it became weaker, shorter.
No Jack will ever get very far climbing this stalk.
Never mind, I smiled, I already have the Golden Harp.
amp, May Tenth, TwoThousandSix