Fog

As the veil of fog nestles in,

Its icy fingers curling about,

Leaving the world chilled and damp,

Dense and dim throughout.

Its silver mist envelops the glens,

As it obscures all within,

Muffling even the strongest shout,

Confusing even the familiar route.

Hidden by the shroud that hovers

 Like a silken skin,

Not always thick,

And seldom ever thin,

While curling up,

Then down again.

Twisting hither,

Turning fro,

Where ‘er the contour chances

It goes.

It comes and goes,

But seldom stays,

As it disappears by light of day.

While it wanders in,

Then drifts away,

No dues it owes,

Nor does it pay,

Allowed to go

Where 'er it may.

No obstacle could

Impede its path,

Ere ending damp

In its aftermath,

Chilled by the icy touch

It hath,

As though smitten

By some Arctic wrath,

'Till rising Sol

Writes its epitaph.

Fog be gone,

But back by night,

When the Orb of Sol

Turns out his light,

Then again the fog

Shall wear her veil,

Slowly drifting in

Quite white and pale,

Softly enveloping like

The silken sail,

While gently cushioning

The fog horn's mournful wail.

 Then from the Sea

The velvet mist shall swell,

Dimming the lamp

Shining across the Lea,

To cloak the arms

Of every tree,

And trespass the Valleys

Silently.

To mute the lanterns

Eerily,

As it awaits the dawn,

Quietly,

And entwines its chill

 ‘Round about me.

Fog surrounds

Even the places we dwell,

Making no sound

For its presence to tell,

While knowing the familiar

Paths so well,

As it encases the world

Over Hill and Dale.

Without even a whisper,

Or rakish rale,

Fog invades even

The most secluded vale.

So be the course of

Its invisible trail,

As it dons again

Its silken veil,

While across our minds

Her mists may hale,

Like fingers curling,

So thin, so pale