MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Grey Mist

Craig W. Steele

And so I wish amid November’s endless greys
To sleep perhaps a little longer than I should.
- Philip E. Burnham. Jr., “November Greys”


Grey mist is blanketing the wintry land.
Resembling now a vast, deflated cloud,
it rolls relentlessly to where I stand.
Grey mist is blanketing the wintry land
beneath an insubstantial gauzy hand.
And what enfolds me snug in fluid shroud?
Grey mist does. Blanketed, my wintry land
resembles now a vast, deflated cloud.