Monday, July 20, 2015

Poem: Greener Grass

When the waters recede,
and the grass is green,
we will lie on our backs
searching the skies
for reminders of places
we've never been, could never go,
not by ship nor car nor train.

Hear the lonesome whistle blow, my friend,
feel the longing that never seems to end,
and sigh.

No point to cry, for happiness
comes momentary,
as in a dream.

(c) 15 July 2015
Inspired by The Grass is Greener, a poem by Chuck Steffen

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