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Jun 2019
Thin as paper,
Green as a bush,
Doesn’t talk like a dictator,
Ground like mush.

Swaying in the wind,
Whistling like above,
Staying there as if pinned,
Swaying like a dove.

Crunchy for a bug,
Disgusting for us,
Running like a sparkplug,
Yet makes no fuss.

Reborn as if new,
Rustling as if happy,
A new place, it grew,
Not like a tree, not sappy.

Like a forest,
Where it blows with the air,
Singing a chorus,
That’s never there.
A Grass Poem I made for school.
Written by
McLeod
253
   Fawn
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