The Fog

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Like a velvet glove

Soothing the harshness,

A soft and gentle touch

Silently rolling forward.

 

It touches nothing

But caresses everything,

A life of its own

A duty to perform.

 

Like a fervent admirer

It covers its lover,

Pressing home the advantage

Nothing is forgotten.

 

To some it signifies evil

To others anonymity,

People tend to whisper its name

And watch it inherit the world.

 

Sailors fear it passing by

Lovers salute its silence,

The wonder of the city

The passage of the fog.

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Published by

quiall

I am a woman with a mission: to live life to the fullest. I will not let an itty, bitty incurable disease stop me. It may slow me down but like a ship dragging an anchor, I'll get there eventually. Walk with me at www.butterflysand.com

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