New-Mown Grass Poem by Bill Galvin

Maybe this is it, all that there is…
This latest moment to be immersed in;
To embrace what is,
And erase what is not.

Breezy summer windows are down,
On a drive ‘round the roads of these towns,
Reflecting into my looking glass;
But a wistful dusk stalls the moon's rise,
When I sense the scent of new-mown grass.

It's not the smell, but the lift that it brings;
Not the bird, but the fact that it sings;
Not the friend, but the love that is shared;
Not the words, but the truth that is bared.

Maybe this is all there need be…
The greatest moment we rehearsed for;
To repair what is,
And declare what is not.

Summer windows will soon cover in frost;
The line down this road soon will be lost;
When sun-lit vistas dim down at last,
And wistful clouds mask the moon's shine,
I'll miss the scent of new-mown grass.

It's not the smell, but the lift that it brings;
Not the bird, but the fact that it sings;
Not the friend, but the love that is shared;
Not the words, but the truth that is bared;
Not the stone, but the fact it can roll;
Not the bell, but the fact it will toll;
Not the joke, but it is the laughter;
Not the flowers, but the smiles ever after.

Summer 2016