05/30/2025
Grass The Water Cycle Pump
An ode to Earth's green machinery
Down in the lowlands where silence runs deep,
Where sunlight stirs v***r and shadows creep,
There grows a green fabric, humble and small—
But woven with purpose, the lungs of us all.
Most walk past the grass with dismissive disdain,
“It’s thirsty,” they mutter, “a drain when there’s rain.”
But they don’t see the work in each blade’s quiet grace,
A silent green engine reshaping the place.
Through capillary roots and wide-open pores,
Grass cycles the water beneath forest floors.
It pulls it from soil, lifts it high through the air,
Where v***r becomes clouds suspended with care.
The temperature drops where this blanket is laid,
Cool air flows gently where heat once stayed.
Urban heat islands? They shrink where it's grown—
Because grass doesn't burn; it breathes on its own.
It doesn’t just chill—it purifies too,
Filtering air of particulates through.
Carbon dioxide? It gulps by design,
Releasing fresh oxygen line after line.
Beneath the green canopy, water is cleaned,
Through soil that filters the waste unseen.
It slows down the runoff, it cushions the storm,
It holds the land steady, protects and reforms.
And it doesn’t just serve—it gives us reprieve,
A patch for our children, a reason to breathe.
It’s where memories form in the summer’s soft glow,
Where we picnic, we play, and let burdens go.
No wires, no fuel, no humming or beep—
Just quiet work while the world is asleep.
So when you see turf as just something to mow,
Look deeper—it’s more than aesthetics on show.
It’s Grass The Water Cycle Pump, an ecological gift—
Cooling, recycling, giving the Earth a lift.
Not a luxury—no, it’s a functional skin,
A natural partner in balance, with God it's a kin.
By Kirk Harris
