In the still of
Fog crept in with soft grey light
Settling over the land with a fine mist
Soft as a gentle kiss.
Sharp angles are softened by the grey mist
As if by an artist's stroke
So I see none of the flaws
And look at the beautiful view as through smoke
Breathing in peace as I stand there in awe.
Through the mist of fog I see
Only what is before me.
The distant future I see only a hint of what is
But, content I will be with what is at hand
And worry not about what I cannot understand.
Jane Ward Smith©
May 6, 2006