A Blade Of Grass

A blade of grass is bending
Above the moaning stream,
In sympathy is blending
Where troubles only seem.

The waters have no sorrow,
Real anguish ne'er can know;
And yet the grass will borrow
And bear the waters' woe.

It quivers with compassion
And quakes with foreign fears,
Then yields to loving passion,
And weeps the torrent's tears.

more Ruby Archer

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