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Poetry: Walking in the fog

by Paul Lines

The fog creeps over the flat terrain,
whirling aside as its tendrils touch
and engulfs every obstacle in its path.
Its misty fingers move in many ways,
blocking the view within a few yards,
hiding everything within its impenetrable cover.

Working at will, fog can isolate
one person from another
and, though they know that the other is near
there is a feeling of loneliness,
which is created by the total separateness
that a thick fog can bring.

It is almost as if one has been lifted
and is walking about within a crowd.
Carefully, slowly, we have to grope our way
for we cannot see far, distances become unreal.
We find ourselves unable to gauge
where the edge of a road or path should be.

Sometimes, the fog lifts for a moment
and then the foolish rush onward,
but the wise, they retain their steady progress,
knowing that this may be only a tease
and, that at any moment, the fog will return.

So we learn by experience that we must
treat the fog with care and wisdom.
For recklessness may be rewarded by mishap
Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, please respect the fog

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