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.”
