The grass is wet underfoot,
the showers passed.
The sun slants through the trees,
falls in sheets
upon the field.
The soul is something like
a blade of grass
extended straight,
looking up.
It moves to the wind,
lies down underfoot,
is on occasion, cut,
then grows again,
vigorous.
Oh to live like grass,
surrendered,
evergreen in light and dark.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
April 2020
‘The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.’
~ Mary Oliver
‘And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.’
~ Wendell Berry
Living Tree Poetry 