Ode to a Blade of Grass

Oh tender blade of grass,
To what do you amass?
You are but a single blade,
For greatness you were not made.

Thou art short and slim,
Nothing more than a whim.
For on a hot summers day,
Thou wilt start to decay.

You have come to live your life,
On this earth, without much strife.
The greatest danger you will face,
Is being mowed down by Grace.

How simple and perfect,
All life's needs in this are met.
To live, grow, then die,
Without even a small goodbye.

Heere markith the end of mine own ode to grass

A tribute to: Burt Munro