In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning,
I see many smiles upon the meadows. . . .
There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells,
And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining. . . .
Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns,
Spreading them where the Sun's ray fails. . . .
He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird's opening wing,
As he hearkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs. . . .
I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire;
When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.
Hartley Burr Alexander
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wet-grass-of-morning/
