the Graveyard Moss

A poem about the spirit of life that resides within us all.

Hugging the shade of old tombstone
Greening where sunlight touches less
I grow, ever calm and slowly, 
Breathing graveyard air, its sweetness,
As seasons stir but not a bone.

With damp joy I settle softly
As weeds are reaped and grass is mown
Unnoticed goes my meek success
So thinly veiled and shyly shown
Dressing the silence, silently.

Though all in life must evanescence 
Most reach toward what sky they see
I merely wish to hold my own
To appreciate, the drizzly
Since I shall never effloresce,

Yet, when the Reaper's sickle starts to swing,
To this dull and dank tombstone, by God, I'll cling!