In The Mist
By Hermann Hesse
Strange it is, walking through mists!
Lonely are bush and stone:
None to the other exists,
each stands alone.
Many my friends I kept calling
when there was light in me;
Now, that my fogs are falling,
none can I see.
Truly, only the sages
fathom a darkness to fall,
that, as silent as cages,
separates all.
Strange it is, walking through mists!
Life has to solitude grown:
None to the other exists:
each stands alone.
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