No, brother, we shouldn’t go there. <br />Let’s turn and go another way. <br />‘Cause you know the dead grass grows where <br />You are on your last day. <br /> <br />Do you see those butterflies? <br />Do you see their blackened wings? <br />This is what becomes of lies <br />And other terrible things. <br /> <br />We have to go, nobody knows. <br />Do not make such a fuss. <br />That is where the dead grass grows, <br />It is no place for us. <br /> <br />You see even the honey <br />In the fallen tree is rotten. <br />You see all the laws of the world <br />Have simply been forgotten. <br /> <br />Where the dead grass grows, <br />Everything is old. <br />They wandered far, and they were lost. <br />Where the dead grass grows, <br />Everything is cold. <br />They didn’t know life was the cost. <br /> <br />No, brother, we can’t go near. <br />Let’s turn and go away from here. <br />Because this place I dare not peer <br />Is the only thing I truly fear.<br /><br />Stephen Carey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-dead-grass-grows/
