Grass Pome Poem by Jeffrey Quattlebaum

Reaching out from between my fingers
I hold hands with our mother in nature
blades of sizes bearing difference
it rises like questions and seemingly answers

Smelling of the torn and ripped
these leaves give the essence of life
that is quiet to indifference
and blind to celebrations and
deaf to our perilous plight

Bending in the wind when allowed to by men
offering its beauty to a city of gloom
their locations not chosen
yet are simply because it is
what has always been

This grass is the hair of our Earth
for pleasure for protect for comfort and leisure

These thoughts now i wonder
if they do know the falters
and remember our wonderful fathers
as the stories spread along

With the wind taking the years
and all the right and wrong
and distributing the forgotten knowings
of ancient things spoken
that were never written down
just whispers carried along
secrets of the messengers of time.