FOG
By Grannyrosie
FOG The view is dead, or could it be, a fog descended there? Elusive form of shrubs, and trees Revealed,midst wisps of air. Tendrils of grey, stroke dull, dank leaves, A minute curtain parted, The cliff wall, stone on stone there be, Beyond that, not a thing to see. Thick loneliness, beyond that ledge, A place of unknown horror, What ghouls and ghosts, leap and sway, Cackling at defeat of day? Sit, watch, observe, no shadows there, Come forth sun, fill the skies, Not a glimmer of light there be, In answer to those cries. Huddle, snuggle, in warm bed, Observe, seek blue clearing yonder, Rolling, roiling fog recedes, Still left, to deeply ponder. Behold! The swamp arises now, Spirit tentacles of fog still linger, Eddying eerily through the trees, Liken to, deaths beckoning finger A turbulent rolling mass of grey, Boils along the river's length, Seems like the demons gathering strength, To fight the light of day. Ah sun! Your sweet light brightens now, Clouds surrender to your might, Only a vestige of fog remains, Too weak to pursue the fight Written December 23rd, 2001 © on Dec 23 2001 02:22 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg 0 • 10
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"FOG..."