moss

Stepping through the grove,

            I see it all around me.

On the thatched roof of

            a cottage, on rock and tree.

I stop and sit on my heels

            to feel its delight.

Soft and palpably damp

            from the dew over night.

How comforting, this moss,

            in a world that’s so prickly;

thistles and branches and

            people terribly finicky.

So thank you, I say,

            today to the moss,

for the calm and splendor

            with which I've been embossed.