Why does death

shroud itself when it comes to call?

We know it’s face, it’s eyes,  its grinning mouth.

When death  creeps silent around the unmarked graves

the old graves

the empty graves

the freshly grown graves

Why does the fog follow it

like a loyal beast at it’s master’s heel?

Do you wonder about that fog

could it be my dying  breath, or yours?

I do wonder as I wait

by the old graves

the empty graves

and the freshly dug graves too.

JNW’S HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE: FOG