No blades of grass grow past
the last length left by last month's mowing.
Stunted and chlorophyll-challenged,
the stubble holds in this dormant bubble,
awaiting the snow.

The mowing, the snowing, the never knowing
what awaits when the spring brings back
the gift of nurture.

Then, again the wind will comb the lawn, and
each spring dawn will send out solar sustenance.
The blades of green will all be seen
to challenge other plants to grow in showy splendor
until the ender rolls.

All too-tall grass, alas, won't pass another day;
the mower rolls and takes its toll;
short grass will endure.