the life meant to be

i find a poor old grape
on the floor,
having rolled
from bowl or hand
onto the rug
then finding a resting
place beside the lamp.
it's hard now.
no longer sweet.
it could have been there
for days,
for weeks.
i feel bad for it,
away from its friends,
never bitten into.
never lived or died
in the life
that was meant
to be.