Grass Poem by Sasho Ognenovski

Grass



It is calling my tears,
My grass.

When I am talking with her, she is cruel,
My grass.

When I am lying on it, I am full of wounds,
From my grass.

She even does not like kiss,
My grass.

However, it is green
My grass.

Saturday, July 29, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: nature love
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