Lost In the Mist
The graying mists rise and enshroud him, he
suspended, lies on a short thread of life,
while gathered in small knots of worry, we
keep hopeless watch, while I, his beloved wife,
resent the others, wanting them to be
beyond the misty veil. I'll bear the strife.
I welcome in his mother, frail and weak,
but other than our prayers, we do not speak.
By: Joyce Johnson
8/22/14
I single spaced, but this is what comes up. I will try to get it back in shape.
For contest: Through The Mist
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