Life of Grass

Grass looks at the bountiful sky ever

Although grass to a handful surfaces vain,
The very being of it,
Mounting all over reminding of equivalence,
Endures constant pain.

Dedicates unselfishly as foodstuff to others,

None ironically cares whatsoever,
We at times laze on the carpet natural,
Tumult of exuberance, through its vein, runs.

To be found at a pose inferior,
Fixing eyes on the heavens forever.