Gedicht

Philip Larkin - Cut Grass

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long,
long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne`s lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer`s pace.

hmm... vielleicht so?

oh sorry, nich geseeeeeeeeeen!

Gabs das schon?

Grass

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work -
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.

ich glaub das gabs auch schon!

Grass

Alex Spancake

Thump, thump, thump
Always being stepped on
Without a single thought
Of what the grass endures
It stands out in the cold wet rain,
Giving people greenish stains,
Cleats press into its small little roots,
But the grass still stands,
Why do tulips and roses get so much respect?
While grass gets walked on and other plants are kept?
Why do people pick, daffodils, sunflowers and even dandelions?
While grass is just stepped on,
Shushed, Trampled over, and jumped on
And why do people cut the grass?
It’s a plant just like a tree,
But this does not seem so obvious to me.