The Grass by Emily Dickinson — Read

The grass so little has to do, -- / A sphere 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.

And even when it dies, to pass / In odors so divine, / As lowly spices gone to sleep, / Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns, / And dream the days away, -- / The grass so little has to do, / I wish I were the hay!