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The Fog

The fog creeps in on the quiet
little town one fine morning
It's white tendrils creep in slowly
like bony fingers caressing

No one knows from where this
fog has arrived so suddenly
It fills in every nook and corner
of the town insidiously

The fog is so thick that it is real
hard to even take a breath
It also has some putrid smell to
it not unlike that of death

The visibility is so low the people
just flounder around
The soupy fog makes it difficult
to even hear any sound

By evening the fog releases the
town from it's embrace
And with it disappear all the
people without a trace


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The Fog

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