Verdure Poem by Vera Sidhwa

The grass, alive with verdure.
It spoke of leave, trees and forests.
The grass smelled fresh,
It's identity was meant well.


This grass spoke of verdure.
It meant the whole world was green.
For green was nature's chosen color,
It was chosen by man too.

This grass was beautiful.


Many times, I disrespect this grass.
I don't know my own meandering ways.
Yet the grass always guides me,
It shows me the way.


This grass was beautiful.