Fresh Grass

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
One of my better churned out poems.

Submitted: April 06, 2012

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Submitted: April 06, 2012



The grass is fresh beneath your feet

Even in a crowded street

And not too oppressing is the heat

Which makes you think in leet

Delightful odours come your way

Sweet sugars lighten your day

At the end of Winter's clay

The perfume of May

All in all, there's a shopping mall

Which could be a terrific stall

Clothes arranged like an atoll

Will be pulled for the haul

By the lake, little fishes swim

Some fat and some slim

Skirt away from Autumn's dim

Encompassing centre to rim

A smile's glued to your face

When your friends are in place

By your side in the race

For the happiest case

You could climb a mountain

You could overcome a thousand men

You could cross the river Seine

You could chip the song of a wren

Counting down from ten

In a photogenic glen

Or a freed pigpen

And only then

Will the den

Fall again


Your hands pass warmth to cold bars

As an empty impasse opens beneath

In a world that will see no stars

In its sordid experimentations

A million minds retreating in grief

To their morbid hallucinations

© Copyright 2018 Mathew Nicolson. All rights reserved.

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