Hidden in the grasses

It’s Sunday, and if you do not go to church, 

Then take a walk, and sense the presence 

 Guiding you as you step. 

Look up, of course; 

 We all do that on Sundays, 

Wondering if God is there, and watching, 

But look down, as well, 

For hiding in the texture 

 And the color of the grasses 

Lurks a reminder of how alike we are, 

 Though different;

 Of how those differences, united 

Can form beauty; 

Of how, when one is downtrodden 

 All are crushed…