Tiny Pecans

Three weeks I left you lying there
On the ground alone
Thought I’d wait for larger fare
Fat pecans that had grown

But I began to have some doubt
On the wisdom of the wait
Because of summer’s lengthy draught
Four weeks might be too late

There might not be that fatter fare
A-waitin to fall down
Could be the small stuff ‘s all that’s there
Already on the ground

So I bent down and picked you up
Two buckets in one day
Tiny shells to fill my cup,
I’m grateful anyway.