The Blade Of Grass Poem by Saint Eule

Not much to bestow,
Not a rose just a simple blade of grass.
When over grown,
Ready to mow, its time has come alas.

The grasshoppers run in fear,
The birds wait for their prey by the hour.
No longer hidden by her skirts,
The dandelions not a welcome flower.

The endless cycle of growing.
The earth, the rain provide its need.
Constantly maintain the green texture.
Often complimenting it with new seed.

The politics of nations are just like a lawn.
The dictators like weeds will all soon be gone.
The common man shall rise poverty will pass,
Their liberty will grow like the blade of grass.