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Posted by MFish

Fog descends, covering us with
A white shroud, of softness.
Halos of light can be seen,
On the headlights of autos.
Eerie light rays, project downward
From the tall streetlight sentinels.
The softness mutes the noise of
Tires, humming on a distant freeway
And the noise of dogs, barking at
The early morning, paper boy,
Delivering the news.
Foggy mornings, mystify,
Capturing my thoughts,
Like light attracts moths.

Your avatar
Loy • 04/11/2018 at 05:37PM • Like

Very nice poem.

No central heat,
no central air.
Just an oil heater
in the living room,
that was only on
if there was company.
The living space
was in the kitchen
where the huge wood
stove was sitting.
The first chore,
in the morning,
was to remove the lid
with a tool,
put in paper
and wood, for fuel.
Touch the paper
with a match,
replace the lid,
open the draft
and soon the heat
was coming fast.
The stove was iron
with a big oven,
where pies and cakes
would be forth coming.
Some pots on the rear
flat top of the stove,
kept items quite warm,
almost all the day.
Potatoes, vegetables
some meat, would
go into those pots
to cook away,
until dinner time.
That's something I
recall, from long ago,
when life was simple
as we listened
to the radio.

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