poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

This is the grass your feet are planted on.
You paint it orange or you sing it green,
        But you have never found
A way to make the grass mean what you mean.

A cloud can be whatever you intend:
Ostrich or leaning tower or staring eye.
        But you have never found
A cloud sufficient to express the sky.

Get out there with your splendid expertise;
Raymond who cuts the meadow does not less.
        Inhuman nature says:
Inhuman patience is the true success.

Human impatience trips you as you run;
        Stand still and you must lie.
It is the grass that cuts the mower down;
It is the cloud that swallows up the sky.

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 12 Sep 2026 3:16 AM | Viewed: 7750 times

A PoetryNotes™ Analysis of Rural Reflections by Adrienne Rich, is Available!

A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.

ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!

For more information...