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Ode to a forgotten raisin


I found it clear behind the couch
and to the left, beside the door.
The raisin, hard and dusty, lay
cruelly abandoned on the floor.

From whence it came, it's hard to say
And why, and from whose hand it leapt.
Its tale I can but speculate;
the truth will be its secret kept.

Perhaps a bolt of lightening scared
the holder of the raisin, and 
in graceful arc the raisin flew
to freedom from that startled hand.

Or was it yet a robust grape
when it was dropped and left to wilt
and withered sadly all alone
feeling the stab of cruel jilt?

Its story we may never know
or how it felt left on the ground.
It's better not to mourn its loss,
but celebrate a raisin found!

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all written works © April Palleria, 2002