Providence
¶ 1
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The grass he used to preside over
Got churned up by the boots of his players
But the grass he looks at now
Has only flowers.
¶ 2
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His back garden is carefully tended to
Now that he’s got all this time
And the smell of grass reminds him
Of how it used to be.
¶ 3
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Him in charge giving the orders
Players nodding and doing as they were told
Making them feel like Pele
But always bringing them back down to earth.
¶ 4
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Along the borders run the beds
No crowds, no masses
Just still mud and petals and stalks
So quiet you can only hear the wind.
¶ 5
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It’s all so idyllic
But not to him
Paradise would be the ball and players
Running over that perfect grass.
¶ 6
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The ground was his garden
This space now reminds him
Of all those times now gone
And reminds him this is all space.
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