Death’s Cold Mist. Posted by Stan M Rogers on July 30, 2018 Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment Think of me. In case I go Some dark horizon beckoning For some days it comes closer But my heart is always with you Even in deaths cold mist My memory fading My words becoming fainter … with my voice My image with you but my touch no more … upon you. But still I will be with you Whispering faintly my endearments to you Echoing in corridors of your mind Think of me in that light summer breeze A touch. Think of me as it gently whispers in the trees My voice I leave you. Share this:FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedInTumblrEmailPrintMorePocketRedditLike this:Like Loading... Posts navigation ← New World. Stand Tall. →