A wispy mist doth fill my mind.
by Ronald James de Langen
Reflections of times past; I find
hard to loose from webs, a’dust
rememberings do mistrust.
Image on the psyche doth cling
of her; sticky string!
Like cobwebs clutter, yet served a purpose
once. Thoughts are slaved to service
somethin’ greater then we, to believe!
Or nothing there beyond the great weave.
And to dream nevermore
For days of future yore.