It was on a night of fog I died, <br />And I remember just one thing: <br />How the mists were white. <br />In wraithlike beauty, they sat <br />Upon the roads and the fields, <br />Coiling around trees and corners, <br />All around me. <br />I am not even certain they were mists, <br />But suspect, instead, the ghosts <br />Of many from the past who <br />Died within a pallid shroud, <br />Within a lovely, earthbound cloud, <br />Just like me. <br />It comes back clearer to me now, <br />And I recall their folded hands <br />Which slowly rose to greet me <br />As the ghosts drew near to meet me. <br />I remember how the air went stiff <br />As they took my hands in theirs <br />To welcome me.<br /><br />Sophia White<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-was-on-a-night-of-fog-i-died/
