NOT ALLEGORICAL
I am sitting in this great, wet fog
as it, cold, rolls in - settling white
over every green and tendril'd thing.
The insects have their lairs, and on
each bush the white lace of a spider's
web - those famed cathedral weavings -
spread their fan-shaped hand to cling
and capture every watery drop so formed.
Such a strange and surprising catch for
each little spider's batch. Other things are
dripping as little clouds roll by. I am
sitting in this great, white fog, just I.
(Every thing drips as little clouds roll by).
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