Green Grass Grows

This piece was actually not what I expected it to be. I had a particular line that I was trying to write around, and started this poem only to realize that the line in question didn't fit, but I liked the overall feel anyway.

Green grass grows thick and lush

beneath blue skies and wisps of cloud.

A murder of crows takes flight, startled by the sound

of a shovel, dug into hard ground.

A whistled, cheerful tune fills the air

along clouds of breath in the early morning chill.

Beside him, his wife's wide eyes take it all in.

Breath catches with exertion.

A perfect day, peace

broken only by the rhythmic sound of the shovel.

An even pace,

no rush, no worry.

Dappled sunlight, through the trees,

bathes her face in a warm glow.

He smiles, content now, at peace.

Her features, still, as though chiseled in cold stone,

give him strength as he begins to tire.

Soft smell of peat reaches his nose,

organic and full.

His work complete, he grows calm and still

as he cradles her in his arms,

lays her down and covers her up.

He leaves with the memories,

of the best and worst of times,

of the things he had to do

to keep his vows.

His footprints,

and the soft mound of earth

are all that remain.