WINTER MIST
The mist did not disperse with the rising sun,
Did not depart at all as the new day begun,
But settled with a cold grasp everywhere around,
Deadening the beauty and dulling every sound.
Like the breath of death it crept about quietly,
Clinging to all it touched as if desperately
Trying to grasp and hold to all it possibly can,
Being unwanted, unwelcome by each human.
A winter’s mist with it’s grasping icy cold hand
Seems to cling relentlessly wanting to expand,
But today I think the weak sun will win through,
For just over there I see a small patch of pale blue.
Just like hope can rescue an unhappy, sad mind,
A heart can smile and leave the sorrow behind,
So we see the mist diminish by a little clear light,
Giving us all a lift that can stay forever bright.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 28 December 2005