6: 58 A.M. Poem by Chester Whitfield
6: 58 A.M.
driving down the hill I
looked out over the
sprawling town
and smirked at the layer
of cotton laid out like
a blanket over the sleeping town
and I hoped that the town would
squirm and smother under
that fog blanket
but when I got into town I
looked up and saw the same
lonely sky I see every morning
such false hopes
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8/28/2026 8:20:57 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
The beauty of the sky can be deceiving. Look around the blanket. Splendid imagery you have displayed. Patricia Gale