The fog’s been crawling
With its menacing beauty
Like reapers waiting
Drops of water came
Like warnings of collection.
I closed my window
Then they stopped pouring.
As if told, “it’s not time yet.”
The fog retreated.
I know the problem
My feeble pumps are ailing
I tried to fix them
Its miners were weak
I fed them poison to die
But I was found out
There is no gold there
Only an aspiration,
their will to destroy
Do I deserve this?
My desire was to vanish
Ne’er longspun anguish
They say it’s a note
Perhaps an admonition
For what, I’m not sure
I do know it’s mine
– the misery – to accept,
to wrestle, to mend
Until the tide comes
And I welcome in the fog
I’ve long so pined for.