Monday, January 18, 2010

Pah. Who Needs Your Grass?

Golden blades
Are strewn about.
I rest upon them;
Some crunch under my weight;
Others scratch me.
I look above
And see a light at the end.
I roll over
And see some green at the end.
It may always be
On the other side,
But I am content
With where I lie.

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