The mist across the river,
Now denser than before,
Almost conceals the cottages
That string along the shore --
Transforms them into pictures more and more.
They shimmer in the half-light --
Mirages -- and find
The cottages are castle wall,
All silver, and behind
Are kings and queens and coutiers of the mind.
I don't know which are realer,
The people that I know
In the cots across the river,
Or the kings that come and fo
In the palaces the mist makes for a show.
~ Tom Robinson
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:: this post is part of the Friday Poetry roundup hosted by a wrung sponge.