The Grass Is Greenest by stormsage

The grass is greenest
where the coffins are laid -
within the earth,
the wooden boxes shall stay.

As time passes by the falling leaf,
carried by the winds -
a new journey,
of degeneration and decay begins.

The greenest of rectangles,
by the minute they grow -
where the coffins lay,
now all but fertilizer below.

A flower wilts
before falling to the ground -
screaming to the world,
that it is nearing the end; so profound.

The forests once had
a chance to breath, before -
turning to wood chips,
growing, the roses you adore.

Wild animals roam,
be free while you have the chance -
before you are caged,
restrained from joining mother natures dance.

The oceans, so blue,
abundant with life, still uncharted -
plastic bags, old rusted cars,
anything and everything that can possibly be discarded.

But the grass is greenest
where the coffins are laid -
within the earth,
the wooden boxes shall stay.

(C) Leanne Elliott

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