The Fog

September 27, 2011
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Fog slunk in like slow disease
Through wind-whipped peaks and desert trees
To make its home in valleys low
And stay as long as it should please

From underneath no light did show
Yet from atop a holy glow
Taunting, lit the mountain tops
To shine where mortal man can’t go

Through tiny gaps the sunshine hops
But then the serene bubble pops
With passing time grows strong our fear
And every hour our hope drops

The shadow ventures back each year
To fill our heads with newfound drear
From high above the mountains peer
We pray the sky will soon be clear





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