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The still silent sentinels of trees Are dark grey in their October shroud, The birds are lost in dubious day, And we all are covered in sinking cloud. We go too fast and cannot see, And stop to find a friendly place, The swirling damp comes over me And rushes by to blank my face. The shivering mist gets colder now We grope and stumble on our way, With fingers freezing, and breath a crowd, We search for light to banish grey. The fog becomes like rain on me, My clothes are wet, my eyes dont see The number on the door of mine. I stumble by and turn away, When suddenly tis bright as day. My footsteps, ringing in the air, Familiar to the fogged stare, Had opened wide the door to me, And fog, with dwindling arms, retreats When love and light it ever meets. |