The Short Ones Object (v.)

Oh why did you leave us here, tall one?

Out on the patio by ourselves. Alone.

It’s cold out here. Extremely cold. Polar vortex cold. We object.

The icicles are shivering their way loose from the roof. Soon, one will try to stab through our cover.

We can’t see under here. The light is dim.

Oh why did you leave us here, tall one?

It was once warm out here, months ago. Seems like forever.

Sadly, the leaves on the nearby trees fell back then, the grass turned brown.

You took our friends away. We suspect they died.

Did you give them a proper burial?

Dirt crumbs on the wooden floor have been replace with layers of snow.

The short gray ones no longer sniff us, try to eat us.

We are forgotten objects of summer love.

Oh why did you leave us here, tall one?

The cold gets colder, we feel more alone.

Our leaves wilt with sadness.

The tall one answers:

I left you there so I can see you again, short ones. 

Look at you!

You’ve made it this far.

Your green is somewhat true. You held onto your yellow and blue. I am surprised.

I left you out there, short ones, thinking you would leave your seed and die.

Your tag said “hardy”.

The tag was right.

You give the tall one hope, the promise of spring.

The promise of warmth.

So, I must return you to the dim light.

And I must go to the other side of the glass.

A smile broadens my lips.

Promise, short ones.

Be safe, sleep well under cover.

You will be happy I left you there.

Whether it be a noun or a verb, more objects are HERE.