Day 8 - The breathing grass on the playground
The Sky’s dark; the grass’s breathing, there
The playground’s empty, far but visible,
from the window in the 6F pantry, here.
The grass reminds me of thy.
You never liken the taste of the green.
The smell, the touch
Not the color, maybe?
You always walked away.
Perhaps you were afraid
Of the change in sensation or
the bugs’ base.
Perhaps you were keen
On the similarity of your cage and
your mountain mate.
The Moon, where? Who would matter?
You would care, the time it came,
the dark it painted;
the peace it sank,
the joy it rank;
We were friends.
Is there any grass in the heaven?
Are ah-Fei, Feifei, Toby, Tory, xi-Gui, Quillis, and grandpa there playing with you?
I bet they do.
Don’t be afraid of the green
Walk there with your charming pins.
Remember our soft campus wind.
Go, my girl.
Have fun with the mighty souls.
Don’t be afraid, I’m here
watching the breathing grass
on the playground,
breathing its green glory
in this world.