Wild Grass

To tread the stones and smell the sea,

To breathe the air, to feel I’m 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 heaven’s manor - nature’s 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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