A  Parable

(Written around 1970, the Vietnam War era)

The grass
was cut recently
blades mowed down ruthlessly
in an effort to curb
all uprisings

On my stomach now
I hold a peace conference
with the blades who say
they have been wronged

Very few taper still
to their natural heights
the majority bearing a rough edge
they are torn and battle-scarred

My efforts
at reconciliation
seem of little value

They are resentful
they will not listen to my words
they do not want my money
or my lands

What meaning do my words have,
they ask
it was I who swept their dead away
with great strokes of the broom
clearing the sidewalk in a hurry
with only the thought
of returning to my reading

Is it my fault
they do not understand
the ways of the world?

.