MIDNIGHT FOG

MIDNIGHT FOG Somewhere in the midnight fog I see her walking slowly by, Her ghostly figure walks away, Silky white and cotton gray. Underneath a thumbnail moon, Through the misty midnight hour, She leaves no footprints in the sand, She has no ring upon her hand. Past the willows hanging low, Over through the sodden grass, She turns and looks with glowing eyes, She speaks, but only lonely sighs. High upon the cliff she stands, Waves are crashing down below. She leaps and takes her final flight, She disappears into the night. I run to where that I soon find Shes lying lifeless on the shore, She somehow seems to beckon me, To follow her into the sea. I sit upon a fallen pine, And once again she passes by. Her ghostly figure walks away, Silky white and cotton gray. Phil McKenzie