The grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
The grass isn't dormant, the grass isn't dead,
The grass is in mourning, for the day it turned red.
It was a bright sunny day, as I started my chore.
A favorite past time, I can't do anymore.
Therapeutic for me, while others deplore,
but the grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
My baby was four when he started to run
across the yard chasing me, he was just having fun.
But the fun didn't last over the lawnmowers roar,
Now the grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
In the blink of an eye it was over and done.
I couldn't take it back, couldn't stop it or run
I hit my knees, grabbed him, seeing blood galore
Now the grass doesn't grow over there anymore
Little did I know the journey had just begun,
for me, my family, and especially my son,
I found his tiny hand, mangled forevermore
And the grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
In the following days, not knowing what to do,
I asked the Lord to have mercy, cause He'd lost a Son once too.
I cried out to God, don't take him to heavens door
Just cause the grass doesn't grow there anymore.
A barren, desolate circle of haste
Is all that remains of that fateful place.
I see it each day, ten feet from the barn door
And the grass doesn't grow over there anymore
The grass has withered and died,
And the dirt won't hold any life.
What remains today is my son, unaware of his strife,
He's as happy as he ever seemed to be before,
Though the grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
The dust is all that remains, and even that blows away.
But I can't ever forget, my most painful day
I relive it each night, it still hurts to the core,
And the grass doesn't grow over there anymore.
--Amanda L.E. Parratt
