On a day of greatness, the one who is Great
The Grug, was strolling his grounds
Upon which was placed his great dwelling
And as he roamed the lawn, it came to him
He was not yet of utter completeness
He was, as yet, lacking of wholeness
What this lack was he knew not, nor knew he
Why he had strolled out to the lawn
For there were Swedish ski bunnies yonder
And, the divine nectar of the Gods flooding
His racing brain, he stumbled, and was
Laid low, for his face was earthwards
And, as he lay in utter glory, his Greatness
The Grug did see before him, a blade of grass
Humble, supple, green and curiously alive
This blade of grass was the all, the every
For, Yea, this blade of grass houses us one
Within the greenery he glimpsed end and the beginning
He gazed on the early, the late, the middle
He saw all the worlds and works of man
He saw this all and in his sight we live
This revelation before him, the Great Grug was seized
With knowing there were worlds that knew of him not
There were people who did not revel in his glory
There were worlds without the holiest of holies
There was work to be done, the nectar must flow free
Never much a man for working, the Great Grug sat in thought