Rose Moss

Hilda Conkling

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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."

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