Fog in an Old Country Graveyard

High up above the nestling town

the sleeping watchers lie

their sleep untroubled now at last

their dreaming hearts at ease

Atop their hill they wander

at times in starlight gleaming

the silent sentinels of night

love of the country once they tilled

calls their souls to linger still

Yet on a foggy morning

before the sun appears

their shadows wafting over grass

drifting among the stones they pass

and hover 'round the bushes

A mortal feels intrusive here

the air is thick with spirits

of young and old, of tales untold

of secrets, hopes and wishes

I wander there alone, yet not

my footfall soft I wend my way

they brush against my face and

hands, a shiver through me sending

when through the fog fist light appears

the world anew creating

I gaze in wonder at the might of all that is

and share the glory of the dawn

with these new friends on yonder hill

who slip to rest again

but still accept me for a little while

in their sweet dream partaking.