Grasshopper That I Am: Revolutionary Blogging Poetic Lament

Grasshopper that I am,
I’ve spent my spring singing,
my summer and fall dancing,
my winters speaking
and dreaming
of when spring
would return
again.

As the long winter drags on,
those who I might have fed
with my stores of joy
and depth
and strength
fall
by the wayside,
and travel other paths
to find nourishment
I might have given them,
was I not so busy dancing
and singing
and dreaming.

The joy I thought I offered
them
and the world
is fleeting.
While the observations are
sound,
they are not backed up
by anything of depth,
or substance,
or meaning.

Wiser, older guides
remind me that my words
have little backing
beyond their sounds
and clever ideas.
They stand, empty and hollow,
like an old, dead tree,
whose roots have long since
died,
whose vibrant core
has rotted away,
and who needs only a strong wind
to topple it,
to become worm fodder
and dust.

Should I stop my words?
No.
To do so would be
equally
deadly.
But I can write of things
needed,
of things
needing to be done,
of the strength and glory of acomplishment.
And so I will answer the call.

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