Wild Grass
 
To tread the stones and smell the sea,
To breathe the air, to feel Iím free,
To take a path, to turn my course,
To run, to jump, to walk, to pause.
 
No lines, no cones, no sidewalk zones,
No ceilings, cycles, klaxon tones,
No one way streets, no green cross code,
No taxi rank, no heavy load.
 
This heavenís manor - natureís pass,
Visited seldom, smoke plumes sparse,
This wide expanse, shoreline vast.
Array of tufts, this spiked Wild grass.
 
 
 
©Philip Holden
2003
 
 
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