Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #390
The Dreadful Fog
by Belinda Roddie
The dreadful fog is thicker than a stew
left to congeal across a drying bowl,
and though I wander through it to find you,
I fear I will be lost until I'm old
and gray and decrepit. I hold the keys
to many doors, but I don't know which ones,
and I certainly can't be put at ease
when the windows are shut, latches done
and tight. The other shadows in the mist
appear to know their way around, so I
ask them for directions. They turn to wisps
as soon as I let words fall. Will I die
in this dreadful fog? Well, it's hard to say,
since I no longer recognize the day.
by Belinda Roddie
The dreadful fog is thicker than a stew
left to congeal across a drying bowl,
and though I wander through it to find you,
I fear I will be lost until I'm old
and gray and decrepit. I hold the keys
to many doors, but I don't know which ones,
and I certainly can't be put at ease
when the windows are shut, latches done
and tight. The other shadows in the mist
appear to know their way around, so I
ask them for directions. They turn to wisps
as soon as I let words fall. Will I die
in this dreadful fog? Well, it's hard to say,
since I no longer recognize the day.
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