Does the grass cry, when pasture and lawns are being mowed?

Do trees cry out to God, asking to ease the pain when being chopped?

Do flowers scream when being plucked?

If not then what’s wrong with I?

The birds cry out in hunger.

The fish swim to better waters.

Again I ask, who am I?

I’ve never heard a plant cry and beg.

Do they understand their life more than I?

As creation seems more at peace than I.

So who cries besides I, when life plucks it up?

I can’t hear a sound when a tree is struck to the ground.

Lightning strikes and fields go up in billows of smoke.

Submissive, I say to a single strain of grass lying in the palm of my hand.

Yielding to the twist and turns of life.

Creation seems to understand this fickle life more than I.

To the Sun, Star’s and Moon I salute you. How accepting you are of a seemingly brutal fate.

To the trees and fishes, who cries more than I?

Seems they’ve all learned a trick and left me out the mix.

Content with living life as it comes and moves them about.

Aware that they are grass and fish are fish.

Understanding that they must swim to be a fish.

And then there’s me.

Who cries more than I?

Born unsure of my life’s fate.

Unsure of what it is that I’m supposed to do.

Still I cry.

Cry day and night.

I pray, “Lord give me sight throughout my days.”

As the green grass grows and dies, so will I.

Embracing time and life’s seasons.

Creation doesn’t cry in winter.

Things just wither and die.

Is it because they know?

Know that seasons come and go.

Who am I to cry?

The human body was built to take this life.

I have shelter from the wind and storms. The grass doesn’t, and still I cry.

The birds nest outside and up high. I rest low, enclosed and I sleep warm and tight.

Still I cry.

Who cries more than I and my fellow man?

Maybe God as he says we were made in his image.

If I read I may find what makes God cry.

Turns out creation does cry.

It cries out and mourns, bears witness and holds grudges against man.

But we can’t hear.

Funny thought, that creation knows more than I.

More than mankind combined.

For when creation cries, it’s not up to the moon or to one another.

Creations smarter then man, crying out to the creator of the land.

Instead of searching for a human ear.

Look to the grass and how it grows.

Taking every opportunity it gets to grow.

Soaking up the sun when out, resting though the night.

Dying when the time comes.

creation all cries.

But who more than I and all of mankind.