Jake A. Poet Free verse

3

I saw the grass
                    It grew so high-
and during mass
                    to study close,
I peered through the glass and sigh-
the priest is speaking saintly rose,

my mind is off
                   in empty fields
I sniff the air
                 and growing trees,
and boom! His voice is sounding- yield
I can't; I feel the cooling breeze.

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