A slender spine of grass, trembles in the early morning breeze
It perseveres to balance, a fragile, brittle, tear-shaped jewel
The jewel trickles down its spine,
Moistening its aching vertebra
And seeps down, into the embrace of the fragrant soil
A crystal! An ethereally beautiful dewdrop!
‘O’ dewdrop! You’re ever so light-weighted,
You’re carried away by the wind,
Mother Nature ruffles the cascading sleeves of her gown,
And lets a sweet breeze blow,
Which gently lifts the corners of the shimmering veil,
Formed by you and your comrades,
Revealing a sheet of fresh, moistened grass
‘O’ dewdrop! You’re a tear of pride,
Paving a winding path down Mother Nature’s fair cheeks,
And when the sun’s effulgent rays
Trace along your delicate ends,
An infinitesimal spectrum of resplendent colours,
Escapes your glassy self, and gently drifts away
You faithfully stand by your assigned spear of grass
When a grey fog spreads itself,
Across the vast sheet of blue sky
Undaunted by the surrounding, transparent blanket of frost
You’re squashed to death by football studs,
And writhe in vulnerable agony, under the brisk footsteps
Of the swarming crowd of energetic morning walkers
Yet, the next day; you’re back again!
Comforting the quivering spear of grass,
With the same assuring smile