in the mist

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.