Evening at the field

The grass whispers to me
In that silent evening
When there’s no other soul left to listen



The grass is always greener
There across the other side
I always peek through the wall
To see
I closed my eyes
To feel
To imagine what it’s like being there

Often I asked
“Why can’t it be the same for me?”

Somehow God made it in a way
That I see perfection
In what that’s not mine
But it never occured to me
The work to maintain such field

I keep my problems and worries to myself thank you
To you your own
To me my own