I take my daily COVID walk
Across an open well-groomed field,
To keep away from other strollers,
Distance now a cherished shield.
They mow on Tuesdays, so I follow
The clear-cut paths the gardeners mow,
The severed grass a lane-line border,
Where in between my steps will go.

Next Monday they are nearly gone,
Withered blades now nearly dust,
Soon to be no more than compost,
Dried, decayed and shriveled up.
The impulse then to meditate
On such a cycle, life and death,
Especially at a time like this,
I'd just as soon ignore, forget.

And so I now will concentrate
On grass that grows, a better fate.

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