Barry Silcock

A Moss World

Carpeting each curling climb, clouds wind tossed
Glistening dew, gloved in green hues, wet stoned moss
Wet and wipe weary tears come tumbling down,
Clothing a pathway, tree trunks now tower and stoop
I pause, standing: mind drinking, but spirit kneeling,
Leaves and oh so; such soft shoots,
Moss worlds away in feeling, but
Man, oh so beauty-blind, oblivious in scorn.

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