Passing

A man lay down to rest one day.

The sun was low and breezes blew.

Across the plain, they took their way;

The grasses stirring as they flew. 

 

They dashed headlong with strength unmatched.

Their breaking waves then fell unseen,

And filled the poor man’s garments, patched,

As though a silent living stream. 

 

The clothing sighed, a ragged lot,

Until the sun in glory died.

They settled still and cracked with rot,

As if the streams within them dried. 

 

The stars look down and slowly pass

Above the man beneath the grass.

 

12.03.18