The Blades Of Grass Were Actual Blades Poem by Johnny Watt

I carefully traversed through this field in may,
Where the blades of grass were actual blades.

Aching limbs,
Sweat covered face.

I continued forth to a snails pace.

Oh the sun did show it's power,
Scorching body and land.

With every new step,
It beat me down,
Like that of a fathers hand.

Relentless indeed,
But as was I,
Pushing on through weakness and fear.

I kept a calming voice inside.

Saying…

I'll find my way out of here.