Lush green grass moves with the wind <br />more hush than the lolling waves <br />on a quiet sea. <br />But when drought and the season <br />dries the high grass yellow <br />it gives it a voice: a whisper. <br /> <br />As a child <br />I sprawled on a hill <br />with the scratchy spikes <br />of tall fescue <br />leaning near me, <br />lapping my face <br />like cat tongues. <br />I wanted to decipher <br />that raspy murmur: <br />was it a prayer, a poem <br />or a proverb? <br />I cannot tell you. <br />All I know is <br />I cupped my hands <br />behind my ears, <br />to listen, just to listen.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/secrets-of-grass/
