Singular and at once forgotten

The blade of grass

The whole world in my bacteria sized window

All I ever knew

All I ever loved

On a single blade of grass

Blowing in the wind

There is a man with a scythe and he swings it franticly

Cavorting madly in the tall wheat

Threshing the world

Ray Bradbury reaches out to touch the truth

And we smile and dance

To his short tunes

Without guessing that we are the stars, the wheat, and the thresher