Poem Hunter
Through The Mist
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Through The Mist

I felt her presence before I saw her there.
A perfumed scent there was about the air
As I walked the cobbled stones of a misty street,
sensing, in the chill of midnight, her passions heat.

I felt her presence before I saw her there.
I heard an echoing through the air
And as I stood entranced, alone
I heard high heels on cobbled stone.

What does a man do when he sees an earthly angel?
He is held in suspension as she passes by—
He holds his breath in reverence and wonders why.

What realms above or forces blessed,
Have drawn her from the mist:
Golden hair flowing softly to her waist,
Golden hair framing her angel face
Red lips half-parting, ready to be kissed,
And eyes of blue shining through the midnight mist.

Is it true that we can be changed forever,
That a moment’s vision can leave us never,
That a moment can flow to our soul, through some misty corridor
And make us not what we were before?

My mind wanders always through every misty street,
Hoping once again such a vision to meet.
Lady in red, with golden hair and eyes of blue,
Every poem I write, is a poem for you.

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