A Single Blade of Grass
I’ve read a lot about the stars—
sought precious knowledge of deep space.
Wondered when we’ll go to Mars—
pondered if we’ll leave this place.
Some problems here on earth, it seems;
though much here that I treasure.
But is it still a field of dreams,
or merely life in search of pleasure?
Nothing here we really own.
In error the thought we can possess.
We’ve mastered the installment loan;
now we are addicts of excess.
Has it always been this way?
Searching daily for advantage?
Hunting for the easy prey?
Putting them at disadvantage?
Consider then the nascent earth,
rolling forth in its perfection.
Safe for us from date of birth;
lives within our world’s protection.
Shouldn’t we give something back;
become ardent stewards of all life?
Summon strength that others lack;
depart from paths that beckon strife?
In doubt that you might shepherd change
and render chaos into sanity?
Offer truth in fair exchange
as worthy bargain for humanity?
This would be a daunting task—
challenge to the noblest mind—
yet some are unafraid to ask
what they might do for humankind.
Let thus emerge a sacred mien,
that one with purpose can surpass.
For lawns could never be so green
without each single blade of grass.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2018
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