From Cynthia Stamps.
An afternoon of mist, that’s nearly kissed the sun..
but not, I fear..
settles in the hedgerow’s shadows thick..
and snuggles and obscures the thistle sticks..
hastening to glisten upon the trees,
before slowly sinking to their knees..
to disappear just then.
All hints of stars or red of Mars reduced to white,
the mists enclose.
The world retreats and leaves our single hearts to beat,
befuddles a compass,
and seaman’s charts go incomplete..
..encroaches upon the faint of heart –
…entreats the loneliness of fog..
Heaven only knows how or when.
Tis true when as a child, I asked
about the mist that settled in and slowly grasped
“What is this whiteness of the air?”
“how do all things just disappear?”
to which they answered.. ” don’t despair,
’tis only a cloud that’s fallen down to earth
© Cynthia Stamps July 2008.