There was dew on the grass,
And her breath drew warm
On his smooth cheek.
Then the grass dried brittle brown,
And a chill kissed
His wrinkled-river face.The dew returned
And tickled his toes
As he embraced his love,
His death.
Poem: Dew on the Grass
Author & Editor Cynthia Hilston
The published and unpublished works of Cynthia Hilston, editorial services, and vlog series
