The Mist

THe MIst


The days go bye

Slowly or fast

As the great noble tree remembers the past

When the critters crinkle thorugh the dirt and grass

A lonesome wolf howls at the sky for the lost of her cub nowhere near by

The air is thick with rain and fog

While the sun is nowhere to be found

The wolf retreats away for now

Running into the mist

Like a tree being shot down with the might of lighting

The ground is dark and the sky is gray

It seems the stars themselves have ran away

The day seems shallow and alone

Like a swallow breaking its delicate bone

It shall remain like this

Till the end of time

Unless somehow the great sun returns once more

To shine on this gloomy forest of mine......

That I call home