She said, “Come meet me in the fields,
And I will give my love to you.”
He went and waited, with a heart,
But now, it’s understood —

That love is cruel when it’s not kind,
And power’s shown by giving pain,
And wheatgrass blows in empty fields
Where men give up on love
For good

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

5 thoughts on “Wheatgrass”

    1. We can make them good crumbs, though. Like Italian salad good.

      I can’t believe I just put “salad” and “good” in the same sentence. I’m eating a sausage biscuit to atone.

      1. I got two biscuit’s worth of sausage, but only one biscuit’s worth of biscuit.

        That’s for sure about toasters. “Burnt offerings” my dad used to call them.

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