Poetry Sunday ~ The Mist

Hope is some extraordinary spiritual grace that God gives us to control our fears, not to oust them. 

~Vincent McNabb

The Mist
Crossing over the empty field
fingers stretch out like tendrils of vapor
Prior stalks crept skyward but now
the pasture keeps vigil with the midnight caper.

Creeping, clinging, clawing finding its way;
sauntering, slithering into the life of me
Through the trees soft sworn breeze,
the mindful mist just has to be.

The moisture whispers softly sprinkling
sounds, a hiss, a cool bliss singing.
life is short the fork is swaying
with the earth, all but swinging.

The sun is sneaking sinewing and peeking
rays they linger beyond the gist
it is where one day my soul will lay
evaporating as surely will the mist.