In the Midst of a Crowd


I am a blade of grass
In a sea of strands the same
I follow the will of the wind
I don't carry a name

The others stand around me
They don't say a word
They whistle tunes of sadness
Sweet tones I've never heard

Then along comes a child
With hands so warm and sweet
They pick away at my friends
And leave their souls to me

I know I am next
The dark hands block out the sun
And as I am picked apart,
I am relieved that I am done

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