Life of the Blade (Poem)

When grass is fresh and young it sweetly leans to its neighbor.

When grass matures it stands alone only kissing the closest blade in the wind.

When grass drops seed it’s use is done, empty heads hang.

When grass dances in a golden mob it whispers warnings of change.

When grass are the only souls on the plain.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s