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May 1985


lying on the grass alone

what am I

one life

among so many

I lie on my back

beneath the suns Ill never touch

and dream

of glory

of grandeur

of creations endless majesty

the scent of fresh cut grass

filling my lungs

my brief span of years

to me it seems so long

so short

compared to the life times of stars

or the ring counts of trees

how can these three-score-and-ten

take in all there is to see

each day new wonders dawn

to add to those before

and my mind

too small to hold it all

allows it to fall ...


... it spills on the grass beside me

a private universe

dew drops light

on a silken spiders strand

holding all Ive ever dreamt

and more


Lying on the Grass Alone
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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Each New Day A Miracle
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