Misty me

For the mist on the river unveils no mystery as the train gushes out of the night.

Swans and fairies are long gone and winter flows dark and sleepy by the willow trees.

The shallow words of trash news dance their swingless hovering, gobbled up by wide-shut eyes.

A late dreamer unrolls a haze over the sight from a blur on the porthole from the mist on the river. 

©ALS/Tarred & Feathered