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Poem	In the very early morning Long before Dawn time I lay down in the paddock And listened to the cold song of the grass. Between my fingers the green blades, And the green blades pressed against my body. "Who is she leaning so heavily upon me?" Sang the grass. "Why does she weep on my bosom, Mingling her tears with the tears of my mystic lover? Foolish little earth-child! It is not yet time. One day I shall open my bosom And you shall slip in--but not weeping. Then in the early morning Long before Dawn time Your lover will lie in the paddock. Between his fingers the green blades And the green blades pressed against his body... My song shall not sound cold to him In my deep wave he will find the wave of your hair In my strong sweet perfume, the perfume of your kisses. Long and long he will lie there... Laughing--not weeping."
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