snow and grass.



I know this patch of grass,
Sometimes its covered in snow,
but some how its beyond my means,
to see the poor patch to grow.

The seasons come upon it,
and seasons seem to go,
but still this little patch of green,
is to stuborn to let life go.

How it stays there in the summer,
of the heated days go by,
Of flailing wind and thunders noise,
it is just content to sigh.

Of watching poor patch of grass,
and witnessing people walk upon,
A somber mood did cross my mind,
to protect it from disharm.

But here I sit in solitude,
and ponder things I do,
I'll ask one small favor,
and hope that it comes true.

If yee see's poor patch of grass,
Don't prance and pound on thee,
for I'd like to say that this poor patch,
has some how been a reflection of me.

fin.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Severin, in the year 134 MA.