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Foggy Morning

Foggy Morning

Fog ghosts wetly swirl and steal
across the fallow fields
And all the birds sit, mute
In cold dripping trees.
Then warmth is only a memory;
A rainbow in my mind.

The fog seems alive with chill
and send shivers through
A little dog in a stolen bed of straw.
She, pregnant with sons of woe
Knows not the warmth of life,
Only that she lives.

Oh, Lord, take these sinuous threads of fog
And weave them into love
To cover all the earth.
Gather in, I pray, all the lost and alone,
The hungry and the weak
Into a gentle place by You secured.
J. Neal

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