Sheffield Fog

Across the glistened, grassy glens

of verdant, fertile vales and dales,

she drapes her flimsy fronds.

I’ll meet this day in my own way;

not seized but gently swayed.

Allayed, I view, through lens of misty grey,

Nature’s stirring from the ebon night.

Inevitably, as comes the waking day,

her cushioned folds will warm.

She’ll rise, grow thin – then silent fade away;

nudged aside by day, as if to say:

“Now go away”.

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