Over-Mist

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Memory on the Menu.”

What I recall
Is tenuous;
I seem to see
Some scenes of us

From yesterday,
Or long ago:
It may have been
I do not know

For tired as
My mind’s become,
The mansion row
Is just a slum

And she who touched
Me in the night,
Is further yet
From daily sight

So many things
Of now or then
Of which or why
Or how or when

An over-mist
Surrounds them all;
The sweetest things
I can’t
Recall

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