A Stroll Through the Mists

A Stroll Through the Mists

Beneath a moon with a mischievous grin,

The cemetery gates creak, inviting me in.

Mist swirls like a ghost who’s misplaced her way,

Chuckling softly, “You’ll linger past day!”

I tip my hat to a tombstone askew,

“Fine night for a walk, don’t you think so too?”

The gargoyles smirk from their perch on the crypt,

As fog weaves a shawl where the shadows have slipped.

A skeleton’s hand pokes from earth with a wave,

“Lost my watch!” it jests, “Time’s hard in the grave!”

I wink at the specter, all gloom and no bite,

“Your dance card’s still full on this misty night.”

Through yew trees that whisper of secrets and jests,

I dodge a bat’s swoop—such an overzealous guest!

The mist plays its prank, hiding paths from my tread,

Yet the tombstones guffaw, “You’re not quite that dead!”

With a laugh and a shiver, I roam where they lie,

In this gothic waltz ‘neath a chuckling sky.