In the Land of Spanish Moss

A strong virgin pine
barely tilts with the wind
its hanging moss sways

In summer dusk
moss stands in an oak’s branches
many tall shadows

Moss drips tiny pear-shaped gems
after a fall rain

Winter moonlight seeks
the moss in trees, moss
absorbs the moonlight’s silence

In spring moss reclines
across an azalea bush
flush with pink flowers

Summer butterflies roost
in hanging moss, both
denizens of air, soul mates

Moss festoons my yard’s realm
of birds, squirrels, raccoons,
gopher tortoises



Poem by Steven Croft

Steven Croft live on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia on a property lush with vegetation. His work has appeared in San Pedro River Review, Red Eft Review, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Willawaw Journal, Synchronized Chaos, The New Verse News, Gyroscope Review, and other places. “In a perfect world (designed by gardeners of course), common names would be as precise as scientific names and “non-mosses” would not be called “mosses.” On the other hand, from a bryophile’s (moss lover’s) point-of view, referring to a plant as a “moss” is a form of high praise because, as we all know, mosses are the best plants ever! So this spring, go plant more moss or moss-like plants in your garden.”