THE FOG
PART TWO
Section 17
The fireflies stopped flitting, the birds
their trilling.
The tension was killing, the screams blood
chilling.
Cold radiated from the earth, gone was the
mirth.
The air smelt of malevolence and of painful
dearth.
The trees went mute, the forest went back to sleep.
Then rippling laughter resounded in the
forest deep.
As two figures emerged from behind the
trees
And broke into dance, playfully sang the
breeze.
Hand in hand by the river bank they danced.
From behind the pine tree, I watched
entranced.
The moon was like a seraph, sublime and
serene.
Stars twinkled and winked
like voyeurs keen.
A sudden gale hit them with malevolent ingenuity,
Spitting airy expletives and curses with
impunity.
Soon the trees were in its tempestuous
embrace,
The gale like a man armed with a sinister
mace.
When the sun peeped from behind a cloudy veil
I thought I again heard a blood curdling
wail.
Or was it my fertile imagination playing
tricks?
I tried to shake off this scene of a
weird mix.
Tendrils of mist here and there
surreptitiously looked.
They were like lost ghosts and had me hooked.
I sprang up from the ground, eyes still
groggy.
The sun played peekaboo from a sky still
foggy.
In the Fog -- Tran Tuan
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