East African Forest

Mist atop the mountain cools the skin,

But fills the lungs and never leaves

It is a thin, Mirage White

The vapor substance floats,

Clouding what I see of the distance,

The edges shine with a Touch of Gray


Beside my face, a clump of growth

Vibrant against the dark, blurry shapes

Broad, waxy leaves surround African Violets

Clinging to the hard grey stone, 

The plant gazes at the whole world

Filling the thick air with Hazy Lilac scent

Write A Comment