Palm fronds are huge to catch the sun,
but once they become old
their job is lost, life no more fun,
the end of spreading bold.
The once proud leaves hang down in strings
around the growing cane.
They look like brushes, these old things,
or like an unkempt mane.
The palms in hands never grow hair.
Such nonsense would impede
their function to grasp what was there
and reduce handling speed.