Its true, what they say, about fog:
rolling within it, blind, unsure
down the road to wherever you must go
will seem to wind you more t'ward cold unknowns.
The fog, they say, traps you in its light
which disperses truth and hides words and thought
behind its ragged, tough design.
And fog, they swear, is what brings about
those years of pain and sorrow
and unsought after t'morrows.
It's fog, they warn, which captures and tears the torn.
But, when I look around I know: its fog which makes life go.
For later, when skies are clear, and fogs not there
I'll step out the door, and appreciate the sunlight more.
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