Mornings in The Mist

As summertime returns I feel a sense
of something missing, ne’er to be again,
My Sheffield mornings, fogged-in valleys drenched
in mist, ‘neath Berkshire mountain chain.

These memories will ever play, repeat,
To make me smile, each time I feel the damp
of dewy grasses, wet beneath my feet,
My spirit warmed again, as at my camp.

Days and nights immersed, restored, revamped,
Sabbatical (of sorts), but mainly for the soul,
I’m sad but glad to have my psyche stamped,
These images and scenes of summer gold.

Of misty mornings: mystical, serene,
A pasture garden stand, ‘neath tree of green.

Photo Friday: #Fog

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