Mygrain
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009

Don't tread on me
My sprouts so bleak
My arms are frail
My mass is weak

Don't step on me
The lines I keep
But we get down
We get pushed down

Don't sleep on me
I can't sleep at all
I rise with the sun
But with rain I fall

So easily
My leaflets complain
This season is full
Of reason and pain