“grass, sticks & stones”

Between the hush of summer’s air,  
The emerald blades recline with care—  
Grass in soft and murmured rows,  
Beneath the sky in morning’s glow.

Here, the slender needles weave,  
A tapestry through which we leave  
Our footprints, light as whispered tones,  
A memory among the stones.

Along the path, a scattered show  
Of sticks, like arrows after snow,  
Bark-clad wands for wand’ring hands,  
Souvenirs from wooded lands.

The stones—some smooth, some rough with age—  
Compose the earth's unspoken page.  
Silent, stoic, cool, and round,  
Anchoring dreams to solid ground.

Grass will sway and poppies rise,  
Breezes dance beneath the skies.  
Sticks will crack and beetles roam  
While stones remember every home.

Together, humble, green and gray,  
They hold the world in soft array—  
Grass for peace and gentle rest,  
Sticks for games and feathered nest,  
Stones for strength beneath the feet,  
All summer’s tale, complete, discreet.

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