Rose-Moss

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Title:     Rose-Moss
Author: Hilda Conkling [More Titles by Conkling]

Little Rose-moss beside the stone,
Are you lonely in the garden?
There are no friends of you,
And the birds are gone.
Shall I pick you?"

"Little girl up by the hollyhock,
I am not lonely.
I feel the sun burning,
I hold light in my cup,
I have all the rain I want,
I think things to myself that you don't know,
And I listen to the talk of crickets.
I am not lonely,
But you may pick me
And take me to your mother."

[The end]
Hilda Conkling's poem: Rose-Moss

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