Apricity Press Issue #1 | Page 15

Trail Of Dry Grass

Gerardo Pacheco

under the dark clouds

the reapers work all day

swinging their scythes

back and forth back and forth

wiping away sweat

from their hard faces

their backs bent

too busy to stop

whistling tunes

no one sings anymore

if i follow this trail of dry grass

i will join the reapers