THE FOG
PART ONE
Section 8
On the vines, in tiny clusters hung luscious
grapes.
Men moved around wearing weird hoods and
capes.
With predatory madness their eyes sparkled
and shone.
In the wilderness there was the sound of a
trombone.
The toads hopped insanely among
the thick clumps.
Some croaked cacophonously, lounging on tree
stumps.
Among the plump mounds of green moss dangers
lurked.
For some enigmatic reason, the feisty
fireflies perked.
Flitting around the bushes, gone absolutely
berserk,
The fruit trees smiled, their beams piercing
the murk.
One tree, as though under a pang of conscience
sudden,
Was all aquiver with its heavy, and juicy
burden.
The owls drifted from tree to tree, with many
a hoot
In the fog, flitting about like tiny flakes
of soot.
On the leaf-littered ground, crunched many a
boot.
Were the men, the quintessence of evil, about
to shoot?
In the jungle suddenly echoed a full throated
laugh
Followed by whispers and a shuddering
cough.
A burst of flame to my right made me jump
And from the thick clump jumped a boy plump.
Had I opted for a hysterical fugue, giving up
on reality?
What tragedy had befallen me, what form of
calamity?
Many questions leaped from my brain to the
tongue.
With fear, to the roof of the mouth, my
tongue clung.
The words stumbled over each other, blocking
the exit.
My legs shivered, confused were my gumption
and grit.
Suddenly the plump boy ran towards the
terrified girl.
In my stomach, a ribbon of fear quickly
started to unfurl.
“Whenever you look at the sky, you will
remember me,”
Words of the blue eyed beauty came from
behind a tree.
“Do not kill me,” followed a blood curdling
scream.
My heart beat madly in the throes of a fear
extreme.
Houses at Falais in the Fog -- Claude Monet
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