#487-Mist
30/11/2018
Summer’s long gone.
Dried slopes,
Now green.
Trees changing color.
Days growing short.
The wind feels cold.
It rains more.
Soon there’ll be snow.
Winter’s coming.
But I’ll still walk by.
And breathe you…
Exhale.
Watch it dissolve.
Before my eyes.
Every day.
Until Spring.
When I’ll no longer see,
Mist.
