Martin Robertson

Now and Then

[The grass in the next field]

The grass in the next field

is greener?  No.

Ours is emerald.

Our grief is other: how seldom can we go

cropping it together, being penned

in distant corners of the wide

acreage that is ours.  Surely we

in the end

shall find ourselves made free

to roam the pastures side by side?