by Robert Lloyd Jaffe
The grass is green
but not as bright
as those little devils
that work at night.
From spidery roots
that remain unseen
a surprise lurks
for those with a thumb of green.
They can be poisoned
pulled, and cut
yet are never satisfied
to stay in the rut.
Even without earth laid bare
can find a stone
seek a crack
and make a home.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I am an observer and listener of the music of life. Where I find cadence, I find my interest and passion directed. It can be sound, light, smell, or purely an experience of thought. The sky, the sea, the mountains, and the machines that allow me to explore those places draw my attention, and give me serenity.
Last updated June 06, 2016