The fog is soaking
up the dull, damp sky
as she twists and turns
in leafless lane,
then seeps with gold
as her mind unfolds
to quiet Novembers
slackened day.
A dampened face
and dampened hand
feel gentle in the golden mist,
a moistened lace
in soft, sweet grace,
the touch
of a natural kiss.
Sally Plumb
Sally Plumb Plumb
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lifting-2/
