The Grass so little has to do - A Sphere of simple Green - (or blue!) With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain - And stir all day to pretty Tunes The Breezes fetch along - And hold the Sunshine in its lap And bow to everything - And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls - And make itself so fine A Duchess were too common For such a noticing - And even when it dies - to pass In Odors so divine - Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep - Or Spikenards, perishing - And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell - And dream the Days away, The Grass so little has to do I wish I were a Hay -
-- Emily Dickinson
(I added the two words in italics to the poem, to agree with the photo of Fescue 'Elijah Blue'. Apologies to Miss Dickinson)
It doesn't look like a grass at all, it is a wonderful work of art!
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