Dear grass,

Funny thing. If you were in my back yard you'd be cut down every week (ok, every month or so--I hate to mow the lawn). If you were in my gravel driveway you'd be poisoned, stomped on, peed on from dogs walking along the alleyway, and torn from your roots. But here you are showcased in a botanical garden as an exotic display. Hmm. Wonder which stalk of grass I am??