As fresh green blades of lawn are we Each soft slipped tip Unseeing, spearing up and out The drought dried ground In hope. A hope so whole So silent, so supremely All encompassing. All defining. We, the fresh green Lawn of hope. Certain Of our welcome, sure Of our contribution. Never in the darkest dream, Waking, startled, frightened From our slumber by The low drone of whirring blades Dew damp and primed To cut us down.