A Tall Grass Story
As I lie here, eyes half closed, I wonder
Why does the grass wave to me?
Has the summer breeze asked it to greet me
And if so, what does it wish to say
But I think the Chinese whispers of a thousand blades
Might confuse the message beyond recognition
Perhaps I should ask instead, the shaded underbelly of the lonesome oak,
Standing aloof mid-field
For surely he hears the same story from the breeze
And then again perhaps I have it all wrong, it's a message from the grass,
So many strands waving their message make the pleasant breeze
If that is the case then, I think I must lie here a while longer
And listen to the story they wish to tell
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