Comiseration

I consider the carrots on my kitchen counter.
I weep for the lonely lives they’ve led.
Their pointed ends grew
Down
Down
Down until they
Nestled securely
In the soil of Mother Earth
From whose bosom
They were heartlessly wrenched.
From their rounded ends
Sprouted slender stems and lacy leaves
That waved in the breeze
In hopes of attracting
A passing rabbit who would
Validate their existence
By devouring them.
When
I
slice
them,
their pale innards reveal
Rings which mark the time,
As they do in trees,
While they waited for someone to love them.
No bunny rabbit I,
But still a child of Nature.
I hope it will be enough.
I weep for the lonely carrots.
I weep.