Blades of Grass

Blades of grass Whispering to the southeast wind Blades of grass Yelling as they roll and bend Blades of grass They're rolling up and down, up and down, ever so fast Blades of grass Nod their heads, bend down, and together they wave To the fields of poppies To the fields of poppies The blades of grass Are rolling, and swaying, ever so fast They race with the wind They live for their everlasting past The blades of grass The blades of grass Roll and wave to the fields of poppies The fields of poppies The fields of poppies The fields of poppies, sing their song They all sing along: "It's too soon, It's not our time Let her be plucked And sold for a dime" The fields of poppies sing, as they burn and burn and burn with their blossoming beauty. But the blades of grass just silently wave and roll.