by Bruce Guernsey
How must it be
to be moss,
that slipcover of rocks?
imagine,
greening in the dark,
longing for north,
the silence of birds gone south.
How does moss do it,
all day in a dank place and never a cough?
a wet dust where light fails,
where the chisel cut the name.
The sun is out in Maryland today. I smiled on my drive to work. The song "Respect" by Aretha Franklin was playing and I sang my heart out. Things are looking up! hope you have a wonderful day! Jennifer
Doesn't God make gorgeous?
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