POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


irishToday is St. Patrick’s Day! So, in soaking up the local color, we ask you to think GREEN! Your poems for this prompt will be tinged with a bit of green. You can write a St. Patrick’s Day poem, something from OZ (Emerald City), an Irish poem, being envious (green with envy), the grass is always greener poem, green around the gills… you can see where this can go. Everything green is fair game… except broccoli. Anyone writing a broccoli poem will have to stay after school and water the plants! Go green, people!


Who decided grass
Should grace everybody’s lawn?
Moss keeps itself cut.
© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013
(Note:  No broccoli was mentioned in the writing of this haiku.)



You live with the cards you’re dealt,
when it is felt that it’s a losing hand
you throw all in and try again.
Shuffle the deck and say what the heck,
you’ve nothing to lose but a lot of green.
Life is not a game, but all the same
it’s not that easy being.

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

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189 thoughts on “GOD’S GREEN EARTH – PROMPT #99

  1. Marjory M Thompson on said:

    Green with envy at the great starts you two have set for us to follow.

  2. Awesome prompt! My name means “Ireland, green water, and peace” and my birthstone is emerald, which has definitely sparked a love for all things that have to do with Ireland…and green. 😉

    Love your haiku, Marie! I think moss is so pretty.

    Walt, your poem is amazing! “You live with the cards you’re dealt…” What a great line!

    • I can never understand people struggling to get rid of moss on lawns for that very reason, Marie. As for Wallt, it’s even harder being green.. Being a quarter Irish, I take Saint Patrick’s Day full on.

  3. Evergreen

    Northwest winds swirl around me,
    Tallest pines encircle me;
    From one side sea breezes float,
    From the other, hot, dry winds,
    Laced with scent of apples, wafts.
    These two regions,
    Opposite, yet
    Side by side
    In harmony.

    And in between them tower
    The vast range of the Cascades,
    Pinnacles of earth and rock,
    Clothed in clouds and greenest trees,
    Robed in purple majesty.
    I close my eyes,
    And breathe in deep,
    And feel the fall
    Of gentle rain:

    Drops of clearest love from the
    Sky, to freshen this green earth.
    Above me seagulls wheel and
    Hawks and little swallows soar,
    Beneath, grass and clover grow.
    I live in the
    Evergreen State,
    And I’m so proud,
    So proud of it!

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Hey, there are things about Washington that suck, I agree, but for sheer opposite, tamed and untaned beauty, I can think of no place better! 🙂

  4. Mr. Dilettante on said:

    Going Green

    Going green has been our quest, we’re going green again
    Painting the halls and walls of the upstairs bedroom.
    A bright fluorescent with wallpaper pink,
    We’ve spent our sense on this offense, methinks we have gone mad.

    But we know to stand where our culture demands. “Go Green!” no less.
    Our current car shows were we are: oh, climate, rejoice!
    The bumper sticker speaks loud and clear for the neighbor’s constant quiz:
    “Did they really paint on green flames?”
    Look back:
    “Oh, yes, they did.”

    So this Saint Patty’s we again went batty, (for I am but one of the clan,
    The saner voice admidst the noise of color-scheme-themed-madmen.)
    Green shoes, green shirt, green belt—our choice to fit in might backfire.
    Green pants, green hands and contacts complete us. Hey, culture? Get inspired.

  5. Mr. Dilettante on said:

    How peaceful the last poem was! Reading aloud: “Evergreen” gave me
    an evocative lullaby that described a state I’ve stayed in but obviously never “seen”. Thank you, Ms. Hope.

  6. (A Haiku)

    What pleases me more
    Than Maytime emeralds? My
    Daddy’s bright green eyes.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  7. Viridescent

    I see this color often
    collected from sea glass
    like viridescent carpets
    comprised of soft lush grass
    I often find bland color
    of rip-roaring sea foam
    in curtains, clothes, and vases
    scattered about the home
    It’s the color of go
    when traffic light has changed
    that flush of jealousy
    when your slightly deranged
    It’s the color of kiwi’s,
    avocados young shoots
    It’s the sheen on Grinch’s face
    when he hollers and hoots
    It’s leprechauns colors,
    shades of moon-colored cheese
    It’s the color of stains
    when kids crawl on their knees
    It’s the color of money, envy, & greed
    found in peace pipes, it’s called crazy weed
    distilled into color
    Absinthe and Chartreuse
    but I’d much rather have mint,
    with fresh wheatgrass juice
    It’s the color of fire
    with copper sulfate
    It’s license plate color
    of Green Mountain State
    It’s the color of pride
    for the Irish they say
    It’s the color of beer
    on Saint Patrick’s Day

    © ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013

  8. DebiSwim on said:


    Shamrock, three green leaves atop
    a spindly stem of clover.
    Celts honored you in lore
    as triad at nature’s core.

    St Patrick, it’s often said,
    as Christian metaphor,
    used the shamrock’s leaves of three
    to show the Trinity.

    Later, emblem it became
    of Irish Volunteers
    symbol of Erin’s great pride
    English rule deeply tried.

    St Patrick’s Day we acclaim
    the seventeenth of March
    in Ireland a Holy Day
    though here green beer holds sway.

    Growing up I thought we had some Irish blood in our background cause my grandfather was a redheaded caricature of a hardscrabble, hard drinking, fighting man in his youth (by the time I knew him he was a Christian). His last name was Tilley but in searching it seems it was an English name. I guess everyone wants to be Irish.


    a leprechaun once told me
    “the Irish have the luck,”
    so pretending I was Irish
    I acted like a kluck,
    Waving four-leaf clovers,
    broguing loudly in the green:
    “top o’ the morning” all over,
    the likes you’ve never seen.

    then I asked the little fellow
    where I might find that pot of gold
    and he laughed so hard he bellowed,
    “that’s a legend that’s quite old.
    the only way to riches
    is work hard and persevere.
    there ain’t no other hitches.
    that’s what makes the gold appear.”

    now he’s gone forever,
    but each year on Paddy’s Day,
    I chant in my endeavor
    to let magic come my way.
    the gold that I was seeking
    is an angel in my life:
    of what lassie am I speaking?
    Why, begorra, she’s my wife!


  10. Ireland

    God took the color of the sun,
    mixed it with the blue sky
    and made the special green
    found only on the Emerald Isle.

    Oh, to see that glorious shade
    up close and personal again!

  11. Defiance

    I’ve been here these twenty years.
    What started as a row of seedlings
    has grown into and entangled jungle.
    I gaze wistfully out the window
    overlooking the parking lot, watching
    children come and go as years pass.
    They slip me cafeteria lunches
    and I survive. And it’s all because
    I wrote a poem about broccoli.

  12. I guess this is one of those days when I live up to the “Mary Mary Quite Contrary” title.

    The Broccoli Limerick

    While broccoli can have quite an edge,,
    It still is a wonderful veg.
    I’m not sure if this mention
    Earns poetic detention,
    So my cruciferous bets I will hedge.

  13. An Ode to ….

    Your dark verdant leaves,
    your earthy fragrance heaves
    into the nether reaches of my mind.

    Amongst your stalks
    fairy folk give talks
    on rainbows and pots that are gold lined.

    I like you raw
    I liked you cooked with, ah
    butter and spices, so refined.

    So with a hearty chuckle,
    please don’t crack your knuckle,
    I am resigned…
    to water plants, unwind.

    An Ode to … Broccoli

  14. emerald
    my eyes reflect the land
    at peace

  15. green
    the envy crawls the walls
    slow death

  16. A Life of Cleanliness

    I don’t want to drink it
    nor breathe it
    but I must think it
    to keep the land

  17. ejparsons on said:

    The Emerald Coast

    When the sky is clear
    And the waters calm
    There is no white like
    The white of the sand
    On our shining beaches
    And there is no green
    Like the green of the water
    As it laps at the shores
    Along the Emerald Coast

    You have to see it for yourself
    To believe the natural beauty
    Of the emerald green waters
    Lapping on the snow white beaches
    It’s a sight to behold

    © Earl Parsons 2013

  18. claudsy on said:

    Love your poems, Walt and Marie. I’ll be back in a while to throw some green down on the table in honor of the day and your prompt.

  19. Green Veggies

    “I won’t eat anything green.” ~Kurt Cobain

    I won’t eat anything that’s green.
    No broccoli, spinach, tiny peas.
    Not even sauced or baked with cheese.
    I am the anti-veggie Queen.

    I will not eat a French-cut bean.
    Kale? Chard? Collards? Nope, none of these!
    No broccoli, spinach, tiny peas.
    I won’t eat anything that’s green.

    Romaine and cabbage ain’t my scene
    and Brussels sprouts? Forget it. Geez!
    Asparagus? No way. Oh please!
    And nix the celery. I mean,
    I won’t eat anything that’s green.


    (After I get a bit of studying accomplished, I’ll try to write something a bit more … hmmmm … nicely green. 😀

    • claudsy on said:

      RJ, you showed us your major prejudice–it’s GREEN! Aren’t you afeared of retribution fro those of us so inclined to spout odes to those vegetables wallowing in the color?

      Have no fear, my friend. I have too many friends who abhor stalks of anything, or rampant grass-colored foods. It’s been referred to as “I’m not a cow to graze on grass.”

      Love it.

      • Rebuttal Re Green Veggies

        Oh gosh! I dissed green? (Oh, the shame.)
        I’m not a veg-bigot, I swear.
        To show that I really do care
        I’ll eat a big salad. I’m game.

        You’ll see then. I would not defame
        that leafy green stuff. (Are we square?)
        I’m not a veg-bigot, I swear.
        Oh gosh! I dissed green? (Oh, the shame.)

        My taste buds are really to blame.
        I hope you’ll forgive me. This err
        won’t happen again. Now aware,
        I’ll be kind when making a claim.
        Oh gosh! I dissed green? (Oh, the shame.)


        (Actually, while I am a bit of a picky eater, I do LOVE salads… and some other veggies, too! 😀 )

        However, the quote was just too much fun not to use.

        Thanks, Claudsy!

        • claudsy on said:

          You’re so welcome, RJ. Hahaha, you did such a great job of that rebuttal, too. Laughed all the way through it. Such a talented poet. I admit–I don’t do all the deep greens either, but don’t let me near a salad bar with its temptations. I’ll roll out of the restaurant about an hour later and waddle home.

          Thanks for doing a second delightful verse.

    • Brilliant RJ! Love both of your poems here! 🙂

    • Haha! My older sister would hate this! She is a confirmed vegan. 😉

  20. Yes, yes, Marie Elena: moss. And chickweed and dandelions, too.

  21. The Stately Queen – a Limerick

    There was a bit of emerald green
    upon the breast of the stately queen.
    She came to have some tea
    while gazing at the sea
    before dancing like a young colleen.

  22. DebiSwim on said:


    Grassy knolls of
    Ravishing daffodils
    Each clad in sunny hue
    Eagerly lift their heads and
    Nod to skies of blue.

  23. claudsy on said:

    3-17-13 PB Prompt #99 Write a “Green” poem.

    Éire (Haibun)

    Who plucked a piece of Heaven to lie at mortals’ feet? Who coined the word “green” to describe its color and promise riches at rainbow’s end? Between the shores of this land rose song, lore, and verse to grace the world as a bracelet’s charm lest it ever forget those who dared bring forth such beauty. That race from Underhill who walked before men left behind their magic to snare the unwary, to brighten the lives of those dragged down by daily woes, and to promise always to remember that the magic of life comes with the sod.

    Time peoples land’s home,
    Delicate droplets of Grace,
    Fall on Earth’s Heaven.

  24. Uhm, let me post one poem for #99. Hopefully, I won’t forget to post one for #100, as well:

    Green has millions of colours
    Millions of eyes to see it
    Innocence, naiveté or simply freshness
    In the mountains of summer

    © 2013 Mariya Koleva

  25. Pingback: It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Be Irish, or be sober | Rough Words

  26. Pingback: St. Patrick’s Day Poem | Two Voices, One Song

  27. William Preston on said:


    Old McCarthy, who played a euphonium
    hated Molski, who played a harmonium.
    When they met, the tumult
    would produce one result:
    a great brannigan fused with polonium.

  28. Gone Green

    Global warming rouses trees
    from needed rest to bud and leaf,
    awakened by a summer breeze
    in winter, their dormancy brief.

    If forests must forsake REM sleep
    for naps, and never wake refreshed,
    can they still do their part to keep
    the planet breathing, feathered, fleshed?

    I ponder such things in the daze
    of morning after sleepless night,
    when bark looks gray and tired in ways
    that stir my pity in the light.

    Humanity is inhumane
    in using well our earth’s resource;
    our carelessness makes us profane.
    Is it too late to change our course?

    Think Green! We cheer St. Patty’s shades
    of Kelly, forest, dollar, moss.
    In green, we watch rainforests fade
    hardly aware of what is lost.

    It looks to be an early spring
    where winter barely spoke its name.
    In days the layered greens will bring
    new chances to live just the same.

  29. janeshlensky on said:

    oops! Stanza 4 second line should read “not using well…” Sorry.

  30. Eire

    I want to visit Tír na nÓg.
    Is there a magic horse for me?
    This emerald land I want to see:
    Tuatha Dé Danann’s in vogue

    and all the fae folk speak in brogue.
    Perhaps I’ll come in time for tea.
    Is there a magic horse for me?
    I want to visit Tír na nÓg.

    Oh what a brilliant mythologue!
    I’ll sail across a sparkling sea
    and introduce myself. That’s key.
    I’ll offer gifts. I am no rogue.
    I want to visit Tír na nÓg.


  31. Guess I’m part of the plant watering brigade too! 😉

    Miniature Trees

    Leafy boughs,
    And light green stalks,
    Strong, fresh smell,
    Dark green clusters.
    They grow in the garden
    Like miniature trees,
    Growing and reaching,
    Spreading their branches,
    ‘Til they’re gathered and harvested,
    And cooked in stir fry,
    They’re little trees of

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013


    My memory’s faint on that point
    but I think her name was Tracy.
    Or Stacey.
    Or Lacey.
    Or something that ended eee.
    I called her Spearmint Green.

    Not to her face. I was better mannered
    than to disgrace the long
    lecturous lessons of my mother’s
    good intentions,
    but that’s what I called her in my head.
    Spearmint Green.

    She rushed by us like a gazelle chased,
    a tendril breeze that blew kisses
    fresh as an icy spearmint morning,

    and we girls in our light blue gym shorts
    and white canvas shoes, our eyes
    squinted and fingertips lining up
    combination numbers with clicks on locks,
    we less fragment girls,
    we less fresh girls
    who finished the unlocking of lockers
    with kicks at metal olive-green painted doors,
    we girls who just smelled like girls should
    after gym class, well, we were in greenish
    envy of Spearmint Green — that girl

    who threw stops and starts into our
    every well laid stinking plan,
    that minty gazelle of a girl who chewed
    stick after stick of green-tinted spearmint
    and left us behind, sniffing in her fragrant
    green breeze — that girl who put me right off
    my affection for the green tints of mint.
    That girl I called Spearmint Green.

  33. Sprig Soddit

    Da widter has returd agaid
    to drape da weary lawd id white
    a cover harsh as bordig light
    upod de ice. It’s often said
    about dis cruel bunth dat wed
    it cubs id wid a liod’s bite
    it goes out like a lab, id spite
    of fears we hode dat sprig is dead.
    Do I wut Daylight Sabigs? Dough!
    Just gibee warber days ad sud,
    to prove dat sprigtibe has begud!
    I let by Kleedex boughted grow:
    Sate Patrick, sdot ad buds udseed:
    Oh Barch! Cub turd our world greed!

  34. A Green Salute

    To every shoot, every sprout in every shade
    Of green, green, green
    Spring’s banner now waving
    Over our northern side of earth –

    Welcome! We say “Welcome”
    To the grass that overcomes its winter brown
    To the weeds which later will be rooted out
    But today tell us the garden
    Is still alive, the earth, our mother, fertile
    Waiting only for the seed to be planted.

    Even the rocks, dull patient,
    Today they wear a brighter shade of moss
    Emerald, like jewels tossed upon the ground

    To all who slept away the winter
    Dream no more!
    The world has awakened
    Arise! Arise!
    Celebrate the green!

  35. Pingback: Verdance | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  36. Verdance

    I envy
    these trees
    their ability
    to shoot the breeze
    with the sun.

    If there’s one
    thing I know,
        it’s leaving.

    I long
    to learn
    their sparrow song,
    spun jade
    and un
    jaded into swaying limbs
    shading silent

    Someday I will
    when I finally spill
    into that emerald
    apple sea.

  37. “SpringGreen”

    When the sun rolls down
    the carpet lace
    upon the earth

    then spring awakes
    in robin song

    we blink blue-speckled lashes
    under the cool of rain

    and drink in the green.

  38. Oh, Green, Green, Green, Green, Green!

    Comes April, as expected, babbling.
    An idiot’s delight, her tresses dressed;
    her yellow-noise among the branches sing:
    “I lift your spirit with my sunny breast.”

    April’s here again; seductive creeper;
    among the dandelions nods her song.
    Splen`drous! she regales us with her blinders
    of green and leafy circles; vining throngs.

    And lo, she shows the lock where is my heart.
    She promises…defies the morning chill.
    No matter, I will trust her insane start.
    My mind now stymied underneath her will.

    Oh, lunatic! enchanter of the Spring.
    And we are willing partners to your green!

  39. Think Green

    Bully had green teeth,
    not emerald,
    not spring grass,
    more like the underbelly
    of cooked lima beans.

  40. Back with something a bit more serious this time – not a stalk of broccoli in sight! Stretched the prompt just a bit, but I think it works 🙂

    Green Days (a cento)

    Melodramatic fool
    Searching for that someone
    At the end of another lost highway,
    To live and not to breathe
    As my memory rests.

    Television dreams of tomorrow
    Like graffiti on the walls
    Shuffle through my mind.
    Pay attention to the cracked streets,
    The drum pounding out of time,
    Lost children with dirty faces…

    I stand laughing on the corner of insignificance,
    Speechless and redundant;
    I once was lost but never was found.

    Lines taken from the following Green Day songs: “Basket Case”, “When I Come Around”, “Jesus of Suburbia”, “Wake Me Up When September Ends”, “American Idiot”, “Last of the American Girls”, “Who Wrote Holden Caulfield?”, “Welcome to Paradise”, “Holiday”, “Stuart and The Ave”, “Redundant”, “21st Century Breakdown”

  41. Ellen Knight on said:

    Olive Isn’t Always Drab
    (a double, double fib :))

    been my fave
    among the colors.
    It goes back to Sunday dinners
    with those pimento-stuffed green olives on the table.
    I would always point to them and
    say “Pretty. Want some.”
    And as soon
    as I
    I would
    make a face
    and spit it out. But
    I never gave up. And to this
    day I can polish off a whole jar at one sitting.
    I never have learned to like ripe
    olives, but I sure
    do love

    Ellen Knight 3.17.13
    (St. Pat’s Day, write Green)


    It was a Tuesday morning,
    when the dog took me
    for a walk that I realised
    change was in the air.
    It was more than weather talk –
    the birds whistling
    in the key of green,
    choruses welcoming
    yellow crocuses that spread
    fresh as butter on bread
    across lawns, and there was
    a light spring in my step.
    The world was turning green again.
    Spring had arrived.

  43. When The Night Is Green

    At night
    the colour green
    teases moonlight into emerald
    folds of pine scented forests.
    It lifts green
    from drops of rain
    that spill on leaves, soaking
    and coaxing
    carpets of green
    fragrant floors
    into renewed jade
    And so the day turns,
    on various shades
    of green.

  44. DebiSwim on said:

    “the birds whistling
    in the key of green,” I love that! Very nice Misky

  45. Oooh! I Want One!

    Always happy with my lot,
    Till I see something I ain’t got.
    Then I start to make a scene,
    My blue eyes turn a bright green.
    The greedy monster hid within,
    Pays scant heed to mortal sin.
    Never liking to go without,
    I curse and swear, scream and shout.
    Till my own self does gave way,
    And out comes the plastic card to pay.
    Jealousy and greed and lust,
    Are sure to see me go bust.
    But I’m not at fault; it’s in my bones,
    I have to keep up with Messrs Jones.
    No, don’t blame me; it’s in my genes,
    The Monster within me has eyes of green!


  46. Pingback: When The Night Is Green | Misky

  47. Pingback: Vernal Equinox | echoes from the silence

    (a shadorma)

    Gazing through
    my window, seven
    stories high,
    shades of green
    across the city showing
    me springtime is nigh.

    P. Wanken

  49. B Word

    By David De Jong

    I’m struck, stuck in awe all that of
    Verses I read, reviewed above

    Green with envy no words fulfill
    Poetic ink dried in the quill

    My phrases mere character spills
    It’s making me green in the gills

    The more I think the worse it gets
    So compelled its giving me sweats

    The cure I found so perfectly
    Eat green bunches of broccoli

    So make me stay and water plants
    For my mindless broccoli rants

    It’s ok I won’t mind one bit
    Rather be doing than just sit

    Plus it will make me more hungry
    To eat beloved broccoli

    No broccoli’s found in the house?
    I shall revert to Brussels’ sprouts

    Some fried chicken would go quite swell
    Heaped potatoes with butter well

    Now that I have an appetite
    Shall cook them all – to eat tonight

  50. Pingback: Suspended | Metaphors and Smiles

    • Suspended

      Too many words have fled,
      sped like skipped pebbles.
      Glassy surfaces don’t slow stones
      and thrown rocks bring ripples-
      crests flow outward together
      but these don’t seem to hinder
      nor do they appear to help
      to carry or perpetuate…
      Poems escape me
      and then again
      they’re launched recklessly
      with no time to consider
      the joy in the soft round edge
      or the imprint of peace in its speckled pattern.
      Verses are flung
      before I’ve had the chance
      to thoughtfully finger the rough angles;
      they’re slipped heedlessly to the universal pool
      before contemplating the pitch.
      All of these heavy laden wordless days
      cause me to grope the shore for promises;
      I search for just the right stone for skipping
      and still, even though I sense this disconnect
      I feel I haven’t really had the opportunity
      to experience the cool savory weight,
      or the shape of perfection
      the flawlessness of an unspoken poem
      poignant in my palm.

      Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

      So, this is probably a stretch…I’m feeling “green,” in the poetic realm lately…a shift in artistic expression has me dancing and writing choreography for dances this last week(s)…somehow it feels like a long time since I’ve been steadily writing, (it has only been a few weeks), and any way I’m a little torn. I’m constantly looking for balance it seems and skipping stones into the universal pool must be part of that for me to feel whole and balanced.

      • This is lovely, Hannah! Your first two lines are absolutely beautiful, and kind of sad. Hope you get back to writing steadily very soon! I love to read your work. ❤

        • I agree, Erin…I did have to adjust to this new lack of writing but the rest of life will not wait for me so I need to be more present in other realms, too. I become quite addicted to writing and everything else sort of fades into the background if I’m not careful…I simply go through the motions of life waiting for the next chance to write and that doesn’t seem too fair…

          I hope you know how much I appreciate your encouragement, Erin, it helps to know that there’s special somebodies out there that enjoy my writing…thank you. ♥

          • I do know what you mean, and am glad you are putting it on pause for a while (even though I’m sad at the same time). I’m so glad that I’ve been able to encourage you a little! You encourage me with every poem you write, so I’m thankful to be able to give a little back. Hugs to you!! ❤

      • Beautiful, Sweet Hannah. And dance away!!

        Marie Elena

  51. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Sweet Robin: The Day We Met

    We met today on grass of green
    You hopped along; I stopped,
    Then slowly tiptoed back away
    So not to scare you off.

  52. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    (Well… it’s been a long while since one woke me up…)

    Neptune’s Emerald Waters

    Mysterious muse, you come and go
    Into my shadows, flow
    Like Neptune’s emerald waters you
    Soothe my weary soul…

  53. Thinking of the rain in Wales…


    We spent our honeymoon in bed
    three endless days, watching the trails
    of grey clouds blowing overhead,
    because it rains so much in Wales.

    This isn’t such a bad thing, though,
    we thought…. Indeed, if all else fails,
    we’ll keep each other warm, just so –
    because it always rains in Wales.

    At length, we found the village shop
    for food, and air, telling the sales
    girl thank you, but we couldn’t stop
    because it rains so much in Wales.

    We spent our honeymoon in bed,
    Because it rains so much in Wales.

  54. (We’ll see if this works… the lines may be too long… ah, well, no matter!)

    Bluegrass? In Colorado? Really? But Why?

    I hear the grass is greener on the fence’s other side,
    But, really, why’s that such an envied thing?
    They’ll only have to mow it more, then swallow down their pride
    When drought arrives to aim its yearly sting.
    I can’t pretend to care that much, nor can I say I’ve tried—
    I see how hard they work to keep it looking almost less than fried!
    Come. Have some lemonade, and share my swing.

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