Nature for poems

We are worshipers of grass blades.
They are very souls and essences,

And on a hard ground, on voyage
We are full-grown poets in diaper.

The undulations send us crashing.
We  hold on to nature for poems.

Our organic mess is floating soul
And our gods are  colored kitsch.

We are the dried straws of souls.
We are helpless to wave in wind.

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