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Ode To The Grass
(Poem circa 2000)

O grass at Flanders Field or Waterloo
The turf where clashed the feuding creeds
The blood of reason stained your veins, then flow
To ground below where lie the noble dead
But grass! You covered all
You hid their bones and faults beneath your shawl

O grass at Wimbledon and other courts
Your gaze locked to the stars, stars of the greens
And not of skies; what colors are these sorts?
Is natural befitting of a wench?
Or preference, you’d change
And be at guards’ parade, there at the Queen’s?

There, trampled ‘neath the gaits of skirted Scots?
O grass, in parks, in picnic groves and nooks
You’re what would turn to cud or lovers’ mat!
In lawns of Hollywood, or Broadway walks
You’d wish you’re trodden down
By Britney Spears and/or Paris Hilton?
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