It is out there, beyond my window.
Lying upon fields, on roads, and heavily upon my brow.
The Fog, a blanket as soft as velvet,
as chilling as the twilit realm from which it emerges.
My mind and the fog are as old friends who never part.
Their conversation has no end, and no start.
Incongruent with my will to advance,
to awake from its nebulous dream.
Wool woven of water clouds my mind.
Oh, how I wish a wind would return,
to blow away this fog which plagues the valleys of my mind.
I beseech you winds, to my aid.
Before all is lost within its labyrinth,
shear away that which clouds.
