When the grass is cut and
slightly wet, from summer’s dew,
you will find us, in that
secret place.
Where we don’t just skip
among the flowers, but
we stay young together,
while we can.
With clumps of grass in hand,
we hide and run and creep around,
caught up in play, of what we call
grass wars.
We’ve finished school, and
we’re growing up too fast,
what innocent fun is there,
for adults?