Sickness Comes

—————–

After the fog rolled in,

Grey mist slid forward…

Gliding along like felled timber

in a Canadian river…

Slowly settling down

in a cool,

but oppressive blanket….

Languidly sliding down throats…

and smothering the life

out of every living thing…

Caught trespassing in the woods…

that dank,

misty

morning…

—————

David L. Whitman 11/05/2012

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