A child asks, what is the grass?
It is everything, I reply.
It is all things that last,
Like you and I child.
Eternally growing, changing from
Stardust to the green blades
That cut through hours and years,
Minutes, seconds; slivers of time and space.
Seemingly motionless in an expanding race:
A rhyme, tying the clock to our thoughts
Chasing a growing thing inside of us,
Hoping it is something of worth.
Sprouting either flowers or thorns
Like a Garden of Eden;
Lavish flowers turn to desolate briars.
A bite of apple:
It is everything, I reply.
It is all things that last.
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