Those grassy ghosts wave hollow hands
of bushels green blessed by breezes.
Whispered ripples roll towards tomorrow,
blossoming from daylight to twilight.
Upon bared backs and bellies we lie.
A sacred pose struck towards the eternal
tidal-pools of child like insights.
Ever watching moments take shape,
slowly evolved towards gradual escapes.
Jealous of their careless ease, we
swear kinship to sugar bees and the apple trees.
Nature's grace takes our wayward reigns,
while moonlight requests us back,
towards a love gone nearly beyond.
Amongst the plants we become one,
Flowering life free-flows sweetly.
Beneath our feet slight ripples whisper,
rustling peacefully the autumn air.
Nature's hollow hand brushes
those grassy ghosts, gently breezed
throughout our rustled heads of hair.
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