In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning, <br />I see many smiles upon the meadows. . . . <br /> <br />There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells, <br />And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining. . . . <br /> <br />Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns, <br />Spreading them where the Sun's ray fails. . . . <br /> <br />He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird's opening wing, <br />As he hearkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs. . . . <br /> <br />I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire; <br />When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.<br /><br />Hartley Burr Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wet-grass-of-morning/
