Through the Mist I See
My hand strokes the Crystal Ball
I peer, as it fills with Mist
Then appears a Mushroom Cloud
I cannot see where
A child alone and crying
on a filthy run down street
A Military Tyrant
as he shakes his fist
A barren field, void of life
parched, the Earth is deeply cracked
But wait! Through the Mist I see
a Rose stands alone.
For Linda-Maries Crystal Ball contest
Copyright 2011 By Rd. Pickett
Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2011
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