Comments about Rose Wilder
The fog shrouds everything with its hazy veil.
It broods low over the worried waves-
So low that sea and sky are the same.
The trees tremble in the tiny breath of breeze,
Their cold gray veils of mist undisturbed.
At last the returning sun pierces the shroud and drives away the fog;
The tattered shreds of mist are left to melt.