Tincture

The grass is always greener
On the other side

Of what?

It depends on the vantage

The grass might be greener
However
Where the trail has been tread

Worn down through the old orchard and
Rose patch past the overgrown stone fire pit

Along the tulips and daffodils
Amongst the gravenstein and plum tree

Past the blueberries and fir trees where they sleep

Greener with age and step
Worn with faded contempt

What used to be despised is cherished beyond doubt
What used to be him is
Now me, here

Now