The GRASS
The grass has so little to do,—
A spear of simple green,
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.
For such a noticing.
Emily Dickinson
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