Have you seen the mist?

Have you seen the mist? 

With a cold so strong it chilled my wrist?

A gray as thick as the saddest squire, 

That fills thine heart with dread and mire, 

 

Morning, noon and night, you can hear a cry,

And some other times, a heavy sigh.

A hand stretches from its foggy depths, 

Oh wait, that's just a branch! The ladies wept.

 

Have you seen the mist, so pure and true?

That feels as refreshing as morning dew?

With the sun as its Lord and the moon as its mother, 

The willows of death, now home to another.