Friday, April 15, 2011

The Grass

~Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

The grass so little has to do,—
      A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
      And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes
      The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
      And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
      And make itself so fine,—
A duchess were too common
      For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
      In odours so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
      Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
      And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
      I wish I were the hay!

2 comments :

  1. After all that *nothing to do*...

    And your lawnmower is broken!

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  2. Well I fixed it and mowed a little but then something else quit working -- it's an electric mower and I think it was to do with the power supply.

    All those storms are going to be hitting us later tonight and we'll be having rain all day tomorrow.

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