Day 36

Day 36:

Tiny blades of grass,

Growing in the ground,

Spreading tiny roots,

But not making a sound.

Spanning a big field,

Or sticking out of rocks,

There's always high yield,

Even by the docks.

Piling up boxes,

High in the air,

Squashing all the grass,

Making the ground bare. 

Then wind blew through,

Thrashing stuff around,

The boxes wobbled,

And they all fell down.

We picked up the boxes,

And tidied them away,

So the grass can grow greener,

For another day!