Prickly, Paltry Grass
By Justice Daye-Fraser

The prickly, paltry grass
Pricks and prods at those who pass
What once was a placid playful dance
Now dwells in a pitiful pallid trance.

They whimper and weep to the land
Whispering woeful tales of the weak
Of worn and weary wounded hands
The withering wild grass won’t forget, you see.

Squalid and sharp, the grass knows
We’ve been here, spritely and strong 
My father of Black excellence and sweet soul
And to my mother’s safe and selfless people where I belong.

The prickly, paltry grass
Pricks and prods at those who pass
What once was a placid playful dance
Now look to the future and acknowledge the past.