Wednesday, December 15, 2010

today they mowed the grass.

the roar of the terror filled the morning

cutting, hacking, crashing, slicing

the fields were in agony under noonday sun

the birds swept frantically to and fro, mourning their lost nests, searching for the little ones

my ears ached with the screams of the living wounded things


after the anguish and the death and the weeping

came a calm

and then

a fragrance rose from the stricken fields

a sweet sigh of pure beautiful pain

even though it was only meadow grass

the sweetness was there

and the merciful sky

wept a soft rain

onto the rows of fallen flowers

and the fragrance swelled and hung

in the gentle air

and my heart wondered at the awful beauty of the mowing.

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