Blade of Glass - POEM

 

In a meadow wide, beneath the sky’s vast dome,

Lies a blade of grass, a slender, emerald loam.

A whisper in the wind, a painter’s fine brush,

A story it holds, in the calm, in the hush.

 

Unseen in the sprawl, yet a piece of the quilt,

It bends to the breeze, with grace it is built.

A blade among many, yet unique in its stance,

It captures the dew, and the sun’s morning dance.

 

Its edges are sharp, as a sword finely honed,

But it harbors no malice, in the soil it’s sown.

A warrior in stillness, in the earth’s grand mass,

A sentinel of time, is this humble blade of grass.

 

It weaves through the fabric of the field’s verdant gown,

A splash of bright green, where the raindrops come down.

A dance with the insects, a feast for the eye,

It stands resilient, as the seasons go by.

 

Through scorching heat and the frost’s cold clasp,

It endures each trial, with a quiet gasp.

A cycle of life, in each blade, it does pass,

From the burst of spring to the winter’s stark rasp.

 

The blade of grass, a symbol life’s fragile thread,

Each one an echo of the words nature has said.

A lesson in patience, in strength, and in class,

There’s more than meets the eye in a simple blade of grass.