The crutches holding up the seasoned veteran,
Raindrops that coax a plant into great growth,
The whole world packed into an airtight can,
Fresh water drizzling down the farmer's tired throat.
A safe haven from the vultures of our modern day,
This thing called family is not one to stray,
For it is concrete, it'll never go away,
You can count on family to be the one to stay.
Without crutches, the veteran falls,
Deprived of water, the plant does not grow at all,
Without the water, the once vigorous farmer dies,
With no family to mourn at the place he lies.
Short and sweet, I guess. Just decided to try out that writer's block^^.