The Grass
By ERIKA BEAVER
A child asks, what is
the grass?
I tell the child, grass
is many things.
It is a blanket to
protect those beneath it
And a bed for those on
top to lie on.
The playground of crawly
critters that creep,
And a place for
unwanted gum wrappers to hide.
A secret passage way
for migration,
Where poppies and
daffodils sprout.
An easy place to play
catch,
Or make a daisy chain.
Or be a soft hill to
roll down.
Down down like alice in
wonderland.
Another life lives in
the leaves and weeds.
Plants of death,
stealing and spreading.
Yet grass survives,
even thrives.
That crazy rabbit finds
comfort in
The deep dark hole
beneath the grass
It is his home where he
keeps his treasures
It is where he finds
the time to think
About life, and other
things.
The grass is eaten by
the gazelle, and yet,
The gazelle will die
and become the grass.
Such is the circle of
life
That we so often talk
about.
The circle that brings
all life together.
Like the six degrees of
separation or whatever…
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