I wonder if the grass is brown
And sharp with weeds as it used to be;
I wonder if the hill moves down
To break in rock before the sea.

I wonder whether others pass
That way, and if with racing feet
They feel the bitterness of grass
And find the harsh touch sweet.

And if they pause and standing there
Suddenly they grow tense and still,
Then turn from the sea and toss their hair
And laugh as children will.