We are the Bunch of Grass.

 We  Are  The  Bunch Of  Grass

 Creepy insects  disturb us,

Butterflies   and  tiny flies

Pass us  taking  us for granted.

Dew  drops  as tears, as I construe,

Fall  on us for we  are trampled

 Foliage, pitiable, desperate.

 We  are   The bunch of  grass,

We  smell  green, we smell fresh,

 Vibrant  wet  Emanate  from our roots.

Roots, like  ancestral grandeur

Are  our  unshakable  Strength.

We  are  Not peel of plantains,

 We  bend and  yield to  sickle

Of  callous   cuts  and  removal.

We  have no   boundary  line,

At times, our brotherly kin

Pops out of gaps, of cleavage,

of walls  and  moles.