Cool Mists
Like steam arising from a pot
and floating by this grassy field,
the morning mist concealed the plot.
I could not find the thing I sought
because with mist it was concealed,
like steam arising from a pot.
I tried to find, but I could not;
my sightless eyes by fog were sealed.
The morning mist concealed the plot.
Encircling seas of white I fought,
as drops within the air congealed,
like steam arising from a pot.
Then, as I stood there, lost in thought
away from there the sunlight peeled
the morning mist that concealed the plot;
And through the veil the thing I sought
a moment showed, and then resealed
like steam arising from a pot;
the morning mist concealed the plot.
{Written June twentieth.}
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015
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