Fog

It’s foggy this morning with heavy fog warnings. So, I’m re-posting a fog poem from a few years back.

Foggy Fracas

The door swung softly open,

And, swirling soundlessly,

Many misty visitors

Soon encircled me.

My silent guests seemed sullen,

Swathed in dripping gowns;

They fixed their watery eyes on me

And frowned their dripping frowns.

I felt a sudden tremor

And saw, as in a trance,

The faded, foggy phantoms

Begin a ghostly dance.

Then, slowly they all beckoned

With faint and hazy hands,

Inviting me to follow them

To shrouded, clouded lands.

I would not join their number

So they drifted out the door.

The only signs they left behind

Were puddles on the floors.

          –Blanche Day Manos