I am the moss that grows where grass will not.
My bed is silk to the polyester of grass.
My color is electric to subdued fescues.
My taste is sweet to the harshness of grass.
My stature is sublime to gangly blades.
I grow where I will not be trampled,
content to contemplate the richness of soil
and delicacy of dew drops.
I am the Heaven that is longed for.
No comments:
Post a Comment