Where The Green Secretly Grows© Poem by Roann Mendriq

Reached the office with time to spare,
breathed in the scented air;
On a whim, I ventured outside,
seeking pathways, seldom tried.

Surrounded by pure glass and chrome,
like a silver plated tomb;
Sleek arrow roads in black asphalt,
Cars arrive in blank default.

Armies bedecked in dull dress code,
March in quiet automode;
Eyes glazed, silent, lost in thought,
of the stocks they nearly bought.

Such grey monotonous scenery,
not a patch of greenery;
I sigh and search for just one tree,
A sign that life is still for free.

Trees there are, but landscaped still,
Primped and preened, with no free-will;
Moulded to a modern design,
Not one blessed natural line.

Lawns are shorn and manicured,
Prisoners; they've been so allured;
Like frozen sheets of plastic green,
Not my grassy banks of evergreen.

And then I spy a clump of clover,
springing forth it seems to hover;
Stubborn, with pure will survives,
finding ways, it grows and thrives.

Beneath a polished cobblestone,
green grass grows softly unknown;
Within the secret weeds grown wild,
I spy a beetle and we smiled.
©