Classic Poem

The grass lies down. It fluttered
in the driving rain of the east wind,
and now it lies,
cries,
cries all the more
for cloudy skies,
lies.

The grass lies:
lies more quickly than the wind,
cries more quickly than the wind,
rises before the wind.

On cloudy days the grass lies;
lies
to its ankles,
to the soles of its feet;
lies later than the wind,
rises before it;
cries later than the wind,
laughs before it.
On cloudy days, the roots lie.