Sonnet #378

 The frost on the grass won’t kill the grass

The soft moon curls of deer hooves do not kill

The damp leaves might if they stay damp and still

But they will dry out and blow away and ask

So little of the lawn, eventually the hibernation

Will not kill the grass, the sweeping sheets 

of  freezing rain will not kill the grass, the insect eat

Beneath the roots does not kill the grass, the station

Of the sun that bends away from earth kills no grass

The howling winds blow over their sharp heads

The leaves we see look dead as doom brown grass

Where green we long to see is gone, this leads

What looks like rebirth in spring that’s only grass

Always living, always reaching among the flower beds