The Grumblers of Grumbleton Lane

The Grumblers of Grumbleton Lane

Down Grumbleton Lane where the grumblers grew,

Lived Grizzle McFrown and his cousin McBoo.

They grumbled at sunshine.

They grumbled at rain.

They grumbled at gravy.

They grumbled at grain.

“The clouds are too fluffy!”

“The sky is too blue!”

“The flowers are blooming!”

“Why, what shall we do?”

They grumbled at puppies

For wagging their tails.

They grumbled at ships

For setting their sails.

“The rivers flow sideways!”

“The mountains stand tall!”

“The squirrels keep squirreling!”

“The nerve of them all!”

Old Mrs. Von Whimble complained every day:

“The birds sing too loudly!”

“The trees sway that way!”

“The moon is too moonish!

The stars are too bright!

And somebody ought to do something tonight!”

Then Mayor McMutter stood up with a sigh.

“My friends,” he said softly,

“And please tell me why—

You grumble at breakfasts,

At lunches, at tea.

You grumble at mountains,

At rivers, at sea.

You grumble at weather,

At people, at pets.

You grumble at things

That have not happened yet.”

But nobody listened.

Not one little bit.

They simply complained

That his speech didn’t fit.

“It started too early!”

“It ended too late!”

“The words were too wordy!”

“The rhythm wasn’t great!”

They grumbled at buttons.

They grumbled at socks.

They grumbled at chickens

And grandfather clocks.

They grumbled at hammers.

They grumbled at nails.

They grumbled at rabbits

For having such tails.

Then one curious morning,

Quite strange and quite rare,

A silence appeared

In the cool morning air.

No grumbles.

No mutters.

No groans.

Not a peep.

The town looked around

As if waking from sleep.

For standing downtown

By the old pickle store

Was a curious fellow

No one had seen before.

He carried no luggage.

No wagon.

No mule.

He simply held up

A bright silver tool.

“What is it?” they asked.

“A machine?” “A device?”

“A telescope?” “Mirror?”

“Perhaps something nice?”

“A mirror,” he answered.

“That’s all that it is.

Though what happens next

Is entirely your biz.”

The townsfolk stepped forward.

They peered in with care.

And each saw a face

Looking back from in there.

Old Grizzle saw Grizzle.

McBoo saw McBoo.

Mrs. Von Whimble

Saw Whimble come through.

They stared and they stared.

They stared for a while.

Until several faces

Began half a smile.

For every complaint

They had launched at the sky,

The mirror replied,

“Perhaps ask yourself why.”

For every objection,

For every critique,

The answer seemed closer

Than they’d thought all week.

“The weather’s all wrong!”

Said Grizzle once more.

The mirror just showed him

The frown that he wore.

“The neighbors are foolish!”

Said Whimble with spite.

The mirror reflected

Her own delight in the fight.

“The world isn’t perfect!”

Cried dozens aloud.

The mirror agreed,

And yet seemed quite proud.

Then the fellow spoke gently.

“Now here’s the strange part.

The world’s never been perfect

Since its very first start.

The rivers still wander.

The rain still will fall.

The squirrels keep squirreling,

And that’s not all.

The trick isn’t finding

A flawless land.

The trick is deciding

What you’ll help firsthand.

For if everything bothers you,

Day after day,

You may be carrying

The trouble that way.”

The townsfolk grew thoughtful.

Their grumbling grew less.

Not perfect, of course.

That would be a stretch.

For occasionally Grizzle

Still fussed at a tree.

And McBoo still complained

When he skinned his left knee.

But whenever they started

Condemning it all,

They remembered the mirror

Standing so tall.

And if someone insists

That the world is a mess,

That nothing is right,

And everything less,

Before writing a lecture

Or filing a claim,

Before finding a target

Or assigning some blame,

Take one quiet moment.

Don’t run.

Don’t sprint.

Stand still before glass

And consider this hint:

If nowhere is perfect,

And no one will do,

You might find the grumbler

Is looking at you.

So stare in the mirror

As long as it takes.

Examine the wrinkles,

The wobbles,

The mistakes.

And if you discover

The source of despair,

Congratulations—

You found someone

Who can actually repair.

La-la-la-la,

The Grumblers all sing!

The world’s not perfect—

But neither are we.

And that’s the beginning

Of seeing things clear.

The first step to wisdom

May be found in a mirror.