Shall I fret if the future is in mist?
Is the path happy even without seeing?
Can someone guide, grasping gently my wrist,
Pulling me forward, when I am hesitating?
Shall the guide leave, perhaps as a surprise?
Is there mist in my eyes?
For DVerse’s Quadrille Monday, where the word of the week is “fret,” and including Fandango’s word of the day, “mist.” I’m not sure if I should change something about this poem, but I hope you like it.