Among The Green

The people in the distance don't jump or smile as we do.

Their heads are turned toward the ground, their hands are holding something small.

They don't watch the sun or wait for the fall of winter;

Nor do they lie in the green grass with the white daisies.

They flutter their eyes in the brightness,

Yet they can stare for hours at a screen.

Their hands yearn to touch something real;

But never to touch something green.

They string dreams across the sky, like the white clouds that drift on by.

They sing praises to the moon when it is shining bright.

But still, they do not see the beauty;

They do not gape in awe as the sun rises;

Nor do they relax among the oak trees in the parks;

Or smile at their reflections in the water;

For all they cannot see, they do not know what they can be.

Among the green where the birds caw and the wind rushes;

Among the green where the thrushes sit and sing;

Among the green where nature is all that is seen.