When the moon is low
And the sun can no longer be seen
When you can't even see
The trees back behind your neighbor's home
The fog obscures all
And it's coming for you
The crickets
Are silent
The pond peepers
Don't make a sound
The fog is rolling in
The foxes
Don't cry
And the coyotes
Don't howl
The fog is coming close
Consuming all
In its wake
The sky
Can't be seen
No stars
No planets
No moon
You curl up
On your couch
Clutching a late night
Cup of joe
You close your eyes
And let the fog
Cover your home
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoetryEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
