The Fog Poem by Franklina OwusuAnsah
The Fog
Slowly the fog.
Hunch-shouldered with a grey face.
Warns wide, advances.
Finger-tips touching the way past the dark houses.
And dark gardens of roses.
Up the short street from the harbour.
Slowly the fog.
Arms wide, shoulders hunched, searching, searching.
Out through the street to the field.
Slowly the fog.
A blind man hunting the moon.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
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4/19/2024 9:56:19 PM # 1.0.0.1119
