Blade of grass, so skinny and green,
You really are a beauty queen.
As the wind rushes by, you start to dance,
because you’re better than all the other plants.
I can imagine you in a big blue dress—
But there’s something I must confess:
Since you are grass, there are no dresses.
This is something someone obviously guesses.
So I sit down, close my eyes, and imagine
my blade of grass in a grand beauty pageant.
