Lost

Copyright © 1998 Property of Deborah K. Fletcher. All rights reserved.

July 13, 1998

Whisps of cloud
Swirl round about
Hiding the path
From wary footfall.
Misty wraiths
Surround the soul
With anguished cries
Of sorrow.
Alone she stands,
Afraid to move,
Which crevice
Waits her misstep?
Alone she shivers
As the wraiths close in
To claim her as
Their chosen.

Comments, constructive criticism, etc, about this poem are greatly appreciated.

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