The Mist - Poem
The morning woke up to a view,
As beautiful as the one that ever it was.
Filling the sky with white thoughts,
They lay forever as they should.
The tip of the trees lined,
Welcomingly in the brilliant white lines.
The line drew to a close,
Pretty fast as it could.
Thoughts of many,
Mixed well with the rest.
The oval turn went around,
A lot wider than the usual.
The brilliance of the plane,
Shone through the night.
How many would fall,
Would they ever were meant to be?
Fear not,
Tremble not,
The path grew all around,
In a never ending circle.