Tiny Army

By Amelia Blackburn

The vast color seems to last into infinity,
A billion little soldiers swaying over hills and defending their massive home.
Their loved ones crushed by the rhythmic thumping of tennis shoes.

The grass stands tall,
Barely trembling as the wind exhausts itself, wrapping around the army.
All beings ignore them, but they don’t let anything crush their pride.

The grass winds in every direction,
Crawling through sidewalk cracks,
Striving, growing to feel the suns warmth.

The grass works hard,
Falling under the towels and soccer balls,
Doing it’s job to the best of it’s ability,
As it has nothing left to live for.