spring

She’s worried,
About the rain not falling
But has no grass to grow.
Perhaps the sun will come,
and lever up the blades
to coil towards the sky,
And set her mind at ease.

But mother natures angry
About her petty crimes
She ignores her cries
“Yes, the sun will come”
She whispers through the wind.
“Scorching the once fertile ground,
you wished your grass would grow.”