Green the Grasses ©
By Mary Leona
11202018
English

Green, green all the grasses and wilds that grow
beside the old road, that bend in gale swings
according to winds that Goddess will blow
by the swift easterns that cold winter brings.

The forest grows thick with brush and tall trees
but the worn path stays straight and thin throughout,
sticks a needle through forest heart and frees
the feet to walk ahead along the route.

The woods in this place are so thick and dour
night seems to have come early this cold day
and is so still no sound falls in an hour.
Even the birds sing not a note they

ordinarily would have sung aloud
as if vowed to keep silent as a cloud.








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