It is fog,
And cold,
Behind it,
What it hold?

Still fog,
Same rogue,
Same chill,
Vission clog,

Somemore walk,
Fog after fog,
Less chills,
Painful vogue,

And more fog,
Layers after layer,
It lays dominant,
No sign of flare,

Red fills,
Then blue and black,
Settled pain,
And chills lack,

As big road goes,
The fog flows,
Behind terminal a warmth is predicted,
But absolute truth no one knows.


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