A Sense of Moss

MY TRUE COLOURS calls for a 'GREEN' poem.
You can't get much greener than moss.


A SENSE OF MOSS

Here, where dryness follows rain,

Dryness till it storms again;

Here, where tempest, storm and flood

Leave cracked earth but little mud;

Here where drizzle leaves no stamp,

I had almost forgotten 'damp'.

A night of rain! To the sea it streams,

The earth is dried by the sun's hot beams.

Moisture burns off at top speed.

And moisture's what the mosses need.

And I feel a sense of loss

For, you see, I remember moss.

Somewhere, and this seems uncanny

It's creeping into every cranny.

Up the gatepost, and beyond,

Under every leaf and frond.

Soft as velvet, green as grass,

Cushioning the feet that pass.

Between the bricks making its way;

A little further every day.

Beads of water adding sheen

To the deep and lustrous green.

Today is hot; today I find

Cool green moss is on my mind.