This mysterious indoor weather is clearly from magic,
the last time I saw it the outcome was tragic.
A fog or a mist is not my wording when selfish,
hîth is this mist as we call it in elvish.
Foggy nights roll in from the lands of my past,
dangerous creatures have hidden there last.
Blinded and sightless the fog takes your senses,
from arcane sources this moisture condenses.
Noises and faint light are all hîth permits,
no sight from a distance until it quits.
My fingers strum music to pierce the white veil,
and still my audience replies “epic fail!”
So into the breach I run screaming loudly,
hoping my final chapter is remembered proudly.
As no one can see me my voice must provide,
hoping they warn me before we collide.
The hallway is much longer than I recall,
hopefully the banister will preclude a fall.
The acoustics here are amazingly spiff,
Maybe I’ll pause here to do another riff.