Ah, we must agree about moist grass   
And sun against my face,   
Cool on one side, on the other warm,   
And on yours the same.   
To pull some grass together in my hand   
And sprinkle it over your closed eyes   
Seems like a lovely thing to do,   
And if you'd smile, I think I would.   
Or, if you'd move a little, I'd mention a butterfly I see.   
Tomorrow the sun may be still warmer,   
And we'll discuss the impending days of warm grass   
In our hair and down our backs.   
Then I'11 brush your eyes with a soft stem   
And they'll open.