Grass

A seed buried in the earth
Senses the warmth of the world above
And, knowing full well the risks,
It grows into

Grass, nothing more than a shoot
Poking its head into the morning light
And growing

It may die under a tree, deprived of sunlight
It may die, choked out by weeds
It may die from herbicide, to grow food for people
But it grows

A stray foot tramples the grass
It crumbles to the ground
Bent, but not broken
And again, towards the sun
It grows