THE FOG…8-24-72

The fog is rolling in,

An ethereal blanket of gloom,

Like a sheet pulled over a corpse,

To seal its final doom.

The fog keeps rolling in,

Not a sound does it make,

Like a buoyant, misty ocean,

Leaving life in its wake.

The fog is extremely near now,

Slowly blurring my vision.

Its moist walls are as mighty,

As any concrete prison.

The fog has now enveloped me,

Knowing all along it would win,

Like myriad others, it now has me,

Entombed in its eternal coffin.