The Grass

They counted each strand of grass, and it was said
to have taken them years to make sure
they caressed each with the same touch as if
being caressed themselves in a lover's arms.
Spring turned into Summer, and the grasses of the wintry world
began to live, only to have their time on this earth cut short.
Summer began to transform into Autumn, and the leaves fell
from the trees that swallowed our little city,
and they began to cry, knowing their carcasses
covered the grasses, and knowing that the strands that had withstood
the test of the seasons thus far would lose to
the harsh hand of Winter, where legend has it
that all dies.

-lj
7 February 2017