My roots are showing

My roots are showing: Wishes for another life

I'd like to tell you a story that was once told to me

Of a man who had a single day to wish infinitely.

He rose with morning, drank his milk and looked upon his land

And thought of all the things he'd change if freedom was at hand.

Freedom from the toil of work and freedom from despair;

Freedom from all the aches and pains and hardships he must bear.

He looked about his home with possessions, scant and few;

A mutt, a cat, a mouse and rat, a table with chair or two.

He began his wishes cautiously, announcing them aloud,

"Could I have a biscuit with some juice to wash it down?"

Upon his table sprang a plate just as he had asked

With biscuit high and fluffy and juice topped off the glass.

"Oh my, look how marvelous!" he exclaimed with delight

And began to dream of all the things he'd wish before moonlight.

He wished his garden lush and ripe, his table ever full;

Without a bead of sweat from him, no plow he'd have to pull.

He wished for coins of silver and gold to store beneath his bed.

"And while I'm at it, a grand one of those on which to lay my head!"

With each wish there did appear the object that he sought,

So bolder each his wishes grew, more gallant each passing thought.

He wished a tailored suit of clothes and top hat to wear to town;

A carriage to take him there in style; a butler to follow him 'round;

A beautiful woman to be his bride, her hair of copper penny;

A new dog; new cat; no mouse or rat; a table with chairs aplenty.

And as the moon rose in the sky and his day drew to a close

He looked around at the life he'd made with the wishes that he chose.

His house was bright and full of folks he neither knew nor liked.

His bed was hard, his coins so heavy, his suit was scratchy and tight.

His wife spoke words to him nonstop, fanning herself in a chair.

He swore his ears would bleed by dawn if he didn't get some air.

His butler followed him to the porch, never a moment alone.

He missed the life that he once led in his boring little home.

He scratched his head, "Why does this not fit? Each choice I made my own.

Yet this is not the life I'd choose if I had only known."

He'd wished and wished his day away and sat there feeling old.

He'd wished, not lived, a moment one; his biscuit sat there cold.

He'd looked so hard at things he lacked, to be not as they are.

He wished to bring those moments back, not think them less than par.

His head lay on a marbled table, a well-bred dog at his feet

And his mind wandered to what he'd had as he drifted off to sleep.

The man awoke as morning rose and saw 'twas but a dream

He smiled and breathed and stood relieved at the sight to be seen.

His mutt, his cat, his mouse and rat, his table with chair or two

Surrounded him in his little home that once he'd bid adieu.

"My life is small when next to others its place is seen to be

But small or not, this life is mine and mine to live happily.

My garden full of weeds and toil, my dog no papers found,

But entrusted to me they are indeed; by God's grace I'm glory bound.

"Until that time I'll keep my sight on the beauty near to me

And strive to lead a simple life and share it eagerly."

He saw a woman stooped below; her hair spilled 'round her face

As she picked and worked her garden at a slow but steady pace.

He called to her from his window, to come and sit a spell

And relayed to her the day's events, everything he did tell.

She gave him a look, a smile or two, with disbelief and raised brow

Saying only once he'd finished, "Perhaps don't drink from that cow."

Lisa Kelley is a writer, master gardener, animal lover and all-around good ol' Southern gal who also happens to practice law and mediate cases in downtown Bentonville. Email her at [email protected].

NAN Our Town on 01/22/2015

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