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Into The Fog
Into
the fog and
The mist of the morning,
An owl hooting
In the great unseen,
Water eerily drip,
Drip dripping,
Off of the leaves
In the invisible green,
Much like our lives
So much kept hidden,
Like unwritten poems,
Chapters and songs,
And what we do show
Gets so over ridden,
That it’s swaybacked
And snaggle toothed
Long before we
Are gone.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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