the grand old phony- a poem.

[bryantm3]

archamaedus once forbade us
from ever touching his potted plant
if we came near (he did fear)
that it would transform into an elephant.
his claim seemed unfounded, we resounded,
until he told a tale from long ago:
i once met a trader after a passover seder
who told me he had something to show:
this vine would not make wine,
said he, or deliver a cure for disease.
its aesthetic won't boost your credit,
or do any other thing you please.
but its beauty alone will brighten your home,
and make itself quite a prize.
he was correct, although i did not expect
such beauty to come from its size
tiny was the thing, weighted down with the string
that held the blank price tag attached.
i enjoyed it so much, that i asked him "how much?"
when he closed his pay box with a latch.
"there is something more," he said with a roar
unlike his kind appearance of a dove.
"much like our people, this plant is equal
in the gift it has from above.
across the sea, delivered were we
from egypt, pharaoh and slavery.
when this plant grows up, take not a cup
of its soil, nor its space nor its scenery
for tales have been told of many who sold
this plant at a horrible price.
this plant can turn into an elephant
when threatened, and will kill without thinking twice.
i give you this, friend, for i cannot defend
my children or my wife in the night.
but a man like yourself, young and with health,
can keep it always in your sight."
i went back to our country, sat it near a pine tree,
and have left it alone ever since.
please leave it there, for i cannot bear
my children crushed into mince.
We found his tale exciting, but much more inviting
To try the experiment told long ago.
So off we went with shovel and spent
Long hours in the woods below.
What a gaffe, we thought, it would make him laugh
If he knew we took his story as reality.
Yet deeper still we searched with will;
To conquer is a child's curiosity,
Yet to understand is no-man's-land
But little did we see it then.
As day became dusk, sister smelled a musk
emanating from a nearby fen.
Had we found it at last, this jewel from the past?
Or was our journey for naught?
But there it lay, its shell in decay:
The plant grown from the little pot.
Its roots had grown over, taken the clover,
The ivy, the hemlock, the fern.
All that remained in its delicate refrain
Were the roots and the leaves it had spurned.
A dew drop ran down its flowered crown
And in the pink twilight glimmered and glowed.
Tiny veins on its leaves, delicately eased
Collect to the stem below.
It all seemed so quiet, without such a riot
We expected the plant to display.
But none of us saw, since we were in awe,
That no one had moved its way.
On its hallowed ground, we made no sound
For what seemed like a lifetime, or more
'Till brother, unsettled, moved for a petal
To paste as a trophy on the back of his door.
He tread softly, for although we were motley
We knew when to hold respect.
As he approached, his feet encroached
Upon the roots of the plant of inspect.
Then we felt a rumble, that caused us to tumble
Over on our sides forthwith.
In terror we shrieked, wanting not what was seeked,
And proving each one a child of no pith.
Behind an oak tree covered hid we,
With jackets, leaves and a blanket of fear
Yet all was now silent in the wood so violent.
With hurried whispers and twitching hands I peered
Looking to see what awaited we three.
As I inched 'round the tree I saw the plant still under the brightening moon
And gasped a brief sigh, until I saw its huge eye,
Then a tusk, then two ears and a trunk burst forth into bloom.
The plant flew up and expanded, a flash of light, and there it landed:
The elephant swung its trunk and did not even wait:
Its eyes in a rage, the beast locked long within cage,
Ran towards us with a thunderous gait.
The tall trees once erect kneeled down in respect
To its unleashed power, fury, and might.
Without second thought, we sprinted and sought
To find a way out of the wood in the darkening light.
Then brother screamed, although he did not seem
To admit our plan we all embraced.
"I was only doing what I was told, now I'm being chased in the cold!
It was sister's plan to test the thing, to take its space
And now we shall pass under its mass
Not deserving what we have reaped!"
Through the brush, we continued to rush
When we saw a yellow light which seeped
Through a hole in the forest's soul
When sister saw the light, she weeped:
"If we survive and keep our lives
I'll never touch a plant again
Nor dig one up even for our sup
And never repeat this awful sin"
As we began to near the light we dare not leer
Behind to see if the beast was still there
Myself I blamed for their infraction, my fear led me to inaction
And now in death was I to pay my share
Then brother looked back and then he hacked:
The beast has left the chase!
We were near our home, yet something still loamed
And I knew ended was not the race.
"Quick! A final dash!" Was my comment rash?
We ran for the door, but then heard a roar
And turned back to see the beast rearing its legs
As ivory tusks shone in the moonlight, we knew that we would die that night.
We closed our eyes and prayed, making desperate begs
To God that we might be rescued from this neanderthal's feud,
But prepared for our final hour.
Yet, then we heard a moan, one of desperate tone
One of instinctual fear and cower.
To our surprise, when we opened our eyes
We saw the elephant knelt down.
Before it laid a hose, for watering the rose
That mother last spring had found.
The thing shivered in horror, and moved slowly farer
From its pathetic foe
Then ran out a mouse, from under the house,
(We had quite a rat problem, you know)
And ran towards the beast, not a fear in the least
Of the once deadly great enemy.
The elephant shreiked, and then ran to seek
The forest to escape his stymie.
"This beast is no Moses, he fears garden hoses,
and mice, and lightbulbs bring him terror!"
The old Hebrew, although he was shrewd,
Described this creature with error.
He will make quite a sight, but will never fight
For fear that he one day might lose.
So then came unto we quite an interesting hobby
Of taking his land when we choose.
For never will we need ever to leave
This plant and its supposed might
But pity the plant, that turns into an elephant
But cannot stand up for its right
To live as it pleases, without outside seizes,
From children, or adults, or tower
It is quite a sad tale, for this thing to fail
Even though it held quite a power.
There may one day be creature that has such a feature
To cause it to stand on its own
But the pitiful plant that was an elephant
Will sit as a slave all alone.