Speaking Ground

My attempt at trancedentalist poetry... if it even counts as either of those.

Written while sitting at a picnic table behind a cabin. Sadly the cabin had electricity, making the experience less authentic.

The ground before me is flat and almost barren,
Its grass is sparse
I can hear it telling tales of those who walked upon it,
Before I arrived.
Yet it does not speak to me of pain nor agony,
And I see none around it,
Like the cabin before me it exists as a pact
Between both man and nature.