by Alexandra Ducett

Created on: June 23, 2008

Back to the ground, face to the sun,
Arms outstretched, mind undone.
So much to see with the ground to your back,
But I close my eyes and listen to grass.

Each blade an instrument, every breeze is a bow,
In the summer a symphony, jazz in the snow.
But the music must follow the questions it asks,
So I close my eyes and speak to the grass.

With fingers relaxed, a gentle hello,
Hair all around telling secrets I know.
Each hope for the future, or pain from the past,
I let it all out when I lie in the grass.

And when I cry, I don't hold back my tears,
I relieve my closed heart, despite all my fears.
Because he undersatnds, without having to ask,
Why I am the girl who talks to the grass.

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