Lyrics.

Grass

Grass. Grows in my backyard.

I cut it on the weekend when I’m lucky to have time.

Grass. An inconvenient thing.

But I guess that I would miss it if my yard were brown instead of green…

Still is there something more to grass.

Grass. A battlefield for ants.

Where warring civ’lizations litter corpses ‘round the roots of plants.

Grass. Where vicious spiders prowl.

Eight-eyed hunters lurking in the shadows underground.

Grass. Pure resiliency.

Stomped and smashed and trod upon almost incessantly.

Still. In spite of all of that,

It takes a spinning blade of sharpened steel just to cut it back.

Grass. Where dandelions sprout.

Thwarting all our misinformed attempts to root them out.

Grass. That cultivates a trove,

Of health foods that are growing for us right beneath our noses.

Grass. It’s only surface deep.

Unless it’s that Bermuda stuff, impossible to keep out of the

Mulch. We put in flower beds.

Maybe we should just let grass grow there instead.

‘Cause it’s a carpet for immortal children playing in the shade,

Of the mighty, oaken branches overhead.

With the fragrance of a living earth perfuming every blade,

There is glory in every step they tread.

Grass. Grows in my backyard.

I’d cut it on the weekend but I don’t think I’ll have time.