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Blades

a poem of mourning love forever lost

By Heather ScottPublished 8 months ago 1 min read
Blades
Photo by Paras Kawa on Unsplash

Blue grass piercing higher

skyward

blocking out the sun

for those too small to know.

Wish it were not so

that bluegrass blocked the sun

but there is nothing I can do

to prove it otherwise.

When winter bows its leaves

and strangers trod upon it

bended it will be

and critters underneath will know the rays of Glory.

Until then, make a cathedral of your blades

reach skyward, ever high-ward

for in trying to reach the sun

you reach back to me.

love poems

About the Creator

Heather Scott

Writing, to keep my sanity and make some sense of the world, while keeping watch over my five children as a single parent.

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Comments (1)

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  • James Arnott8 months ago

    The description of bluegrass blocking the sun is really vivid. It makes me picture a thick, almost impenetrable field. I wonder how the critters feel when the grass is bent in winter. Do they scurry around, trying to find the remaining patches of sunlight? And what does it mean that reaching for the sun is reaching back to you?

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