The mist that slips
B E T W I X T the trees
has the power
To drive a man
To
his
knees
It c r e e p s above
And writhes beneath
It knows the secrets that he keeps
This kind of mist
Only exists
When days grow short
And temperatures dip
So be aware and be on GUARD
When Autumn comes
She’ll see all the cards
Sparks 