After the winter rain falls
does the moss wrap around the stone,
holding close, keeping warm,
a careful blanketing, as if to say
I will never let you go.
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Is that moss/rock line McCaig? I poured forth a rainy issue the other day:
"Skerried"
A wilding skerried frizz of pelting cold snow come rain
Has danced down the mountain wind,
keeping the bowed trees supplicant
And a Gaelic foot-stomp across the outhouse roof,
skipped high and was whipped into a grey lace of momentary coronets
Now, there’s no delaying the descent of gargling fall-pipes
where a green tub blubbers “enough”
And green futures bulge at the bud