Aphelion Issue 241, Volume 23
July 2019
 
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Moss

by Cynthia Betsinger


So green, the sweet dewy pelt
It blankets the old oak’s trunk
Like velvety remnants of holiday fabric.

Gently, slowly, it crawls in the shadows
Of the trees of the forest
The delicate divan of the fairies in the wood.

Awakened in the dawn, sprites’ supple wings unfold
And stretch toward the sun
As they dance in the air.

The bluebells beckon that they shall sing
And rings of mushrooms, their evening call
‘Til night, when they cradle in moss’s embrace.


© 2006 Cynthia Betsinger

Cindy Betsinger is a writer, but has only recently taken it seriously enough to write her first novel. During the course of this eye-opening experience, she has  joined several writing forums from which  she has obtained an enormous amount of help and support.

Find more by Cynthia Betsinger in the Author Index.

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