Spring

Ah, we must agree about moist grass

And sun against my face,

Cool on one side, on the other warm,

And on yours the same.

To pull some grass together in my hand

And sprinkle it over your closed eyes

Seems like a lovely thing to do,

And if you’d smile, I think I would.

Or, if you’d move a little, I’d mention a butterfly I see.

Tomorrow the sun may be still warmer,

And we’ll discuss the impending days of warm grass

In our hair and down our backs.

Then I’ll brush your eyes with a soft stem

And they’ll open.

Read by Charis:

Read by Rex Campbell: