Ode to Poacea

This cold grey afternoon light
Makes the grass a brilliant green
Vividly, joyously, marvelously bright
So young and vibrant and spring-time clean.
I bury my face in it.
And breathe in it's new mown fragrance
Dustily, mustily, wonderfully sweet
Fine thin blades make my nose want to dance.
My toes drink in the thickness
They meld with the springy soft mat
Tenderly, ticklishly, tantalizing fresh
I can do cartwheels and handsprings and THAT.
This wind is warm and perfect
It plays me poignant lullabies
Whispery, papery, hushy-shushy music
As through the tall brown grass it's sighing flies.