FOG - DREAM KILLER
I still recall those days of smog,
When the hand in front of your face
Quite literally disappeared.
A billion chimneys, belching smoke,
Filling our lungs with noxious fumes.
A girl and boy passed in the street,
Each quite perfect for the other.
But only footsteps in the fog
Sponsor Netta Onclaud
Eight x Eight poetry contest
31st July 2026
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