Deep down in the dry, eroded gulch
Where many exotic plants bathe
In their own beauty,
On a few special cliffs,
Swelling with Pride,
The haughty, yet delicate Pompous Grass
Stands tall.

Its stem is protected
By layers of shellings
That reach out like arms, rejoicing
For the brilliance they have
At the crown.

A tangled mass
Of brown and white,
Thick,
Yarnlike,
Hair
Stands straight up
In all its glory.

Nothing
Will make this showy
Tail
Lose its dignity.

Not the cracking snapping
Of a shelling
Falling to the ground,
Where it will talk
To other fallen shellings
About its ruler.

Not the childish play
Of being made into a "tickle stick"
To make others lighthearted
Like its weight
While the child
Can hardly hold it
For the strong wind
Blows them both
Where it pleases.

Yet, although it is
Conceited
And although it is
Vain,
We must remember
To treat it kindly,
Because
Even the most pompous
Of Pompous Grass
Has Feelings.