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.”