Good Life


You work so hard. You plant the seed.

You water every day.

You give it all the food it needs.

You try in every way

to make the grass grow quicker,

to stay green and grow much taller.

You fertilize to make it thicker,

Then cut to keep it smaller.

When finally the job’s complete,

and it really looks quite finished,

you can barely stand up on your feet.

Your strength is near diminished.

It isn’t that you hate it.

It’s not a job so tough.

It’s just that you’ll soon find it

growing tall again. ENOUGH!

I’m really going to invent a grass

which stays two inches tall,

and even after many weeks,

it won’t grow more all all.

It will not shrink. It will not die.

It will stay green all day.

It never will get short or high.

Two inches it will stay.

I’ll offer my invention for all the world to take.

That will be my true intention, though there’s millions I could make.

But what about the folks who make the mowers and the seed?

Their jobs from them I would take, and I’d turn their lives to “need.”

I would not welcome this strange quirk because of my invention.

To throw all grass folks out of work was never my intention.

So I guess I’ll keep on planting seed and watering every day,

and I’ll give it all the food it needs, and I’ll help in every way.

I’ll fertilize for tallness and to make it grow much quicker,

and I’ll cut to keep it’s smallness, and I’ll try to make it thicker.