Merchant of aristocratic lineage,
In sweet nectar of Agave, chose to trade,
Quickly, his fortune was made,
Thanks to the milky sap of Agave.
Prominent, the merchant, the plant had made,
Ungrateful was the trader, to the humble Agave,
His wealth, he openly displayed,
“I’m rich because I deserve it!” he brayed.
Swollen pride, and bloated ego,
He mothered, and allowed it to grow,
He did not acknowledge Agave’s part,
In bringing him acclaim, in making him prosperous.
When the healing nectar touched his stingy lip,
He fed on its sweetness, relishing,
Unselfishly, the Agave gave,
Money, health, and so much fame.
One day, to the lands, when famine came,
For water, pleaded the dependent Agave,
But the affluent merchant had turned ignorant,
He let the Agave wilt, negligent.
And all of the plant gradually shriveled,
No nectar from it, could be extracted,
And with Agave’s death, downfall befell,
For the penny-pinching merchant, life turned hell.
Robbed was he of fortune, so hastily accumulated,
Gone was the fame, so briefly cherished,
All his products were completely outsold,
The generous plant was then, wistfully remembered.
Of Agave, the merchant still thinks,
At his empty vials, staring,
With juice, sweet, he hopes to fill,
Giving Agave the respect it deserves, the coming spring.
The songbird sang at 11:37 pm on the 13th of December, 2009
