Moss Poetree for thee.
When all the sorrows fade away,
there I’ll be.
Faded into the green,
Moss melted merged,
Meandering tiny green tendrils,
Under the illusions of it all,
Waiting for the great fall.
Here upon moss maiden whimsy,
Were the horrors of it all seem silly
Upon forest floors,
Where life forges life,
I’ll sink into it and remember
That distant song.
Song of our ancestors,
Songs of our bones.
Where moist moss drips, drips, drips into
The heart of us all.
For we shall all rise and fall,
Into soil for the moss to grow,
Upon the stones of our bones.
So sing that song,
Dance that dance,
And take that sip of a kiss,
For all shall fall upon that moss.
That grows upon my Poetree.
Bless thee.
