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THE GRASS IS SINGING pt XV of The Waste Land cycle by Joel Sattler

part IV of "What the Thunder Said"

based on the poem by TS Eliot

a woman drew out her long black hair tight
and fiddled whispered music on those long black strings
and hats with baby faces in the violet light
whistled in the dark, and beat their bat-like wings

and crawled head downward down a blackened wall
and upside down were towers, towers in the air
and reminiscent bells tolled hours down the hall
and voices singing out of the exhausted wells

but still the grass is singing
over tumbled graves
still the grass is singing
and something can be saved

in this decaying hole among the mountain swell
in the faintest moonlight, the grass is singing
about the empty chapel, a windowless shell
the wind has come home at last, the door is swinging

dry bones can harm no one the bells the bells they echo
a cock stood on the rooftree explaining once again
co co rico rico co co rico rico
and in a flash of lightning a damp gust bringing rain

and still the grass is singing
over tumbled graves
still the grass is singing
so something can be saved

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