WHISPERING GRASS

Whispering Grass all red with heat,
Wind that willows through all that you seek.

Touching the sky; you is denied.
Touching the earth; is where you remain.

So dream little Grass and rise to that sky,
Stay in silhouette until you die.

Nothing ventured is nothing gained
So dream little Grass
I hear your refrain.

The trees do seek your path,
They rise higher than my little sweet Grass,
But still they do not touch the sky,
Height is nothing, but it’s all that we grasp.

-The Artist. 1999