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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=422916" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Grass (inspired by Whitman's A child asks what is grass)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">grass gently waves, <br>sways, twists and swirls<br>with the gentle breeze<br>in a thousand steps and styles<br>god's merciful and caring hands</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a bewildered young soul <br>asked ' what is grass? '<br>wrote lucky Whitman<br>who was so inspired by <br>the boy that he wrote<br>a long poem about life and death</div><div style="margin:10px 0">well what is grass? <br> <br>a genius mind would gather <br>it is god clothing his earth, men<br>his way of crocheting to cover up<br>nudity of his every land</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and he so loves the task<br>he twists and dances in pleasure<br>as his breathe sweeps over the grass</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there is music of joy<br>everywhere that his hand touches<br>- as he expends stitch by stitch<br>inch by inch to spread his cheer </div><div style="margin:10px 0">to think of a man without clothes? <br>how a child would run <br>for cover on mere sight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">grass is god's grace for the child<br>the mountains, the plains, us</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how crude, barren, run down, <br>they would look without <br>the gentle and refreshing <br>green green grass</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the grass that would <br>sweep us off<br>our feet for a dance<br>anytime of the day</div><div style="margin:10px 0">well then let's answer the child<br>question: what is grass? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">whitman's child would learn that<br>each blade is god's finger<br>as he signs a convenant in green<br>of his continuous care for us</div><div style="margin:10px 0">his laughter sweeps over the grass <br>the way breeze does to our heart</div><div style="margin:10px 0">inspired by</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A child said, What is the grass? <br>A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full<br>hands; <br>How could I answer the child? ....I do not know what it<br>is any more than he.<br>I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful<br>green stuff woven.<br>Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, <br>A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped, <br>Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we<br>may see and remark, and say Whose? <br>Or I guess the grass is itself a child....the produced babe<br>of the vegetation.<br>Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, <br>And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow<br>zones, <br>Growing among black folks as among white, <br>Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the <br>same, I receive them the same.<br>And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.<br>Tenderly will I use you curling grass, <br>It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, <br>It may be if I had known them I would have loved them; <br>It may be you are from old people and from women, and<br>from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps, <br>And here you are the mother's laps.<br>This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old<br>mothers, <br>Darker than the colorless beards of old men, <br>Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.<br>O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues! <br>And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths<br>for nothing.<br>I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men<br>and women, <br>And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring<br>taken soon out of their laps.<br>What do you think has become of the young and old men? <br>What do you think has become of the women and<br>children? <br>They are alive and well somewhere; <br>The smallest sprouts show there is really no death, <br>And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait<br>at the end to arrest it, <br>And ceased the moment life appeared.<br>All goes onward and outward....and nothing collapses, <br>And to die is different from what any one supposed, and<br>luckier. <br>Walt Whitman</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=422916" data-title="Grass (inspired by Whitman's A child asks what is grass) de John Tiong Chunghoo" data-description="grass gently waves, 
sways, twists and swirls
with the gentle breeze
in a thousand steps and styles
god's merciful and caring hands

a bewildered young soul 
asked ' what is grass? '
wrote lucky Whitman
who was so inspired by 
the boy that he wrot..."></div>
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