The mist does drape the distant hill <br />And grips the bleak and ghostly skies, <br />With silence for the morning still <br />Across the field and meadow lies. <br /> <br />For clinging to the darkness there <br />A cloak is cast upon the view, <br />Behind the trees so stark and bare <br />The sun is slowly breaking through. <br /> <br />The air is chill upon this day <br />November now begins to bite, <br />The swallows too long flown away <br />That once did bring me such delight. <br /> <br />The path ahead is so unclear <br />As features now are lost to me, <br />For all that I once held so dear <br />Lies hidden in the mist I see. <br /> <br />I walk across the lowly field <br />Where frost has settled on the grass, <br />And pray the spring again would yield <br />Its warmth to melt this frozen glass. <br /> <br />So once again the stream could flow <br />Across the rich and emerald land, <br />Now vieled in white and thus could show <br />The hill within the distance stand.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mist-does-drape-the-distant-hill/
