The Mist

The Mist
Cascais was enveloped in a silky, grey fog last night
that reminded me of Marilyn Dietrich silk- stockings
she wore in an ad many years ago.
Ernest Hemingway and her were a great love story
not consumed.
Above the stockings, a nearly full moon shone, it 
gave hope for the future, the lockdown will soon end
it will be ok, but not as before taking life for granted.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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