The Giant

The blundering giant noticed a creature crawling on the ground.

 

“It looks weak and thirsty.  I will help it into the blades of grass where it can drink the dew,” the giant thought.

It did not occur to the dim-witted giant that there used to be many creatures below his feet, and now there was just this little one.

His boots and his size protected him for the moment, so to speak, from the poison that was on the field of “green.”  A poison he did not even realize was there.

He picked up the creature and tossed it into the grass, then walked merrily away, whistling at how pleased he was with himself for his deed of kindness.

And the creature, which had crawled away from the poisoned ground where its fellows had suffered their fate, now writhed in its last fatal agony in the poisoned grass.   If it could have read, it might have known, in its last thoughts, the irony of the words on the large sign above its head: 

Lawn “Care.”