While the summer tickles long grass
Its feathered heads shiver in the air.
Below, the grass wages war with moss:
The spongy soak and squelch which grows
Like violence in the trim rectangle
Of the lawn.
Beyond windows reflecting
Back pale skies, the moss seeks to sow its
Vile wetness, destroying the grass much
Undersold.
Somewhere, there is a good man, toiling
And doing his best.
Yet some other
Spreads lies and deceit.
This latter
Squeezes out the life and talks
Flame and death through a gritted-teeth
Smile.
He shakes the former's hand
And pats him on the back -
Knife concealed.
Here, the grass seems defeated but,
Look closely at the sun burned moss
Frail and dry, crisp and fragile,
The loose earth beneath showing
Willing to take grass' seeds and grow.
