To the Mist

In what grey fog which shrouds the moor

May I find that for which I long?

A great reprieve on golden shore

To hide me in creation song.


On what high ridge so battered bare

May I lay down my aching load?

The sun on my face the wind in my hair

Where may I rest on harshest road?


At what great temple with sea of stone

May I let go of all my pain?

And look to heaven being known

And know that I am born again?


To the mist and to the shroud

I look for what is clear

An end to all my suffering

And hope to make it dear.

4 thoughts on “To the Mist

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