Sonnet 19 – Fog Weeps
Fog weeps against my windshield as I drive;
It knows it is a wisp, a passing mist
That comes on suddenly but can’t survive
For long, past when the sun this earth has kissed.
We weigh its time against the length of day,
And find it transitory, short in span.
It is the sun that lasts, that rules, holds sway,
As fog morosely packs its caravan.
I weigh my years against the centuries,
And find I barely tip the cosmic scale.
I feel the sun, the heated, speeding breeze,
And sense the brevity of life, and wail.
I weep upon the windshield of the world;
I am a moment’s mist against it hurled.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.