The Scorpion Grasses

Those two blue scorpion grasses, 

rooted deep in my soil, 

were shining like bright beads, 

free from turmoil. 


They were the essence of my serene spring.

Each of their sprout was a herald 

of warm days that they bring.


They swept away my troubles,

like crystal-clear oceans, 

and chased away my gloom. 

They soothed every care, 

and their beauty 

could vanish some of the burdens I bear.


One of the finest jewels that my garden

could own, 

they were filling my soul with compassion, 

they shone...


But one cold winter’s storm, 

so cruel and unkind, 

stripped away their splendor, 

left sorrow behind. 

It tore through my heart, 

left it shattered and bare.

Now spring feels so hollow

—its essence, 

is nowhere.


What now will bring life, 

what now will it bring? 

Without my dear flowers, 

what blooms in my spring?

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