The sky says to the grass

 

“if you grew blue

you could be up here with me too.”

 

But the grass was too long now

to change the composition of its roots.

As it strained

it found itself in pain.

 

“I cannot change to be blue

but I can be everything you need for you.”

 

The sky shook its head.

 

“If you aren’t anew

and you are still green

it will make me less blue.”

 

And so the grass remained,

alongside a bee

who wished he could

sting without dying,

knowing where it wanted to be

was a place it could not go,

would not be allowed to know.

 

The grass hurt.

As it began to wither

and fade to yellow,

there was nothing it could do

about that either.

 

Then it whispered

 

“but don’t you see,

without the sun

we are the same colour.”