A Blade of Grass

The blade of grass stands still and tall,
Alive among his fellows all,
Growing slightly each moment,
Though never changing, never meant
To shock or wallop with disquiet
Passersby who calmly eye it
And let it fill them for a slight
Instant of time that must be right –
That must be true and must be calm,
That must be soothed with gentle balm.
This point of time hidden but there,
Close-knit among the clearest air
With sights, with dreams, with feelings caught
From the grass blade and all it taught,
And all its fellows taught as well –
The silent, growing hopes they tell.

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