What a wonder! What a miracle! Grass—
Of all plants, it receives the least respect…
And yet it speaks with a consumate wisdom.
Disdained by the masses, ignored or blamed
As fashion takes us, still it grows, relentless
In its determination to survive.
Scorched by the summer sun, the green grass burns
And turns a scraggly brown, withered and fragile;
But one small shower, one brief morning dew
Renews its luster. Left for dead, once-lush
Fields turn brick hard, their life crumbles to dust,
Cruel winds whisk away the last trace; and yet,
Should the rains return and soften its heartland,
Tiny blades of grass will soon find some way
To reassert themselves and start a new
Empire, their tiny green hordes now determined
To spread their dominion across the plains.
Jesus said that even though grass is here
Today and ends up getting burned tomorrow,
God still cares for it. Lord, make me like grass.