The poetic task on this happy Friday was to write an elegy on the subject of ‘fog’, using a metaphor. Here goes…



The sight was hazed, the stature awry,

When whistling chaperoned the blindness.

Our bones would knock as sea-bound rocks,

As we tripped the dance of the inebriated.


Thanks to the Daily Post for the photo prompt.

0 Comment

  1. Nice one Laura! Love the second line! Opens it up from just the inebriated fog to all types of blindness, to the mysterious!

    1. Thank you! It’s great to get some feedback, and I’m glad it’s being interpreted that way!

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