Clinton Scollard


Mist at Sea


  The sea was mist-enwreathed at morn,
  A void unspeakably forlorn;
    Yet from the seeming barren gloom
  Beauty, the dream of the world, was born.

  A sudden wafture of wind breath,
  And lo, sun glories none gainsaith!
    Thus shall the wings of the soul emerge
  White from the chrysalis of death.






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