Wind, Bird, Grass Poem by James McLain

Grass lay down,
without feet upon the greens.
Still dawn weeps,
heavy head, hanging.
Barefoot, prints, leaves wet dew,
clingy is sticky, eyes mist.
Sticks tickle moss, movements see
two birds, a feather tips,
early sun, walking west is to slowly.
Bamboo bows, handles it knows,
speaks not of commons sleep.
Vine splayed, swept bricks red, rise
as bird hums, Riddle in honey suckle.
One child takes this out, as two blinks,
Wind tries to dry, brown grass lost tears.