Cool Mists

Like steam arising from a pot and floating by this grassy field, the morning mist concealed the plot. I could not find the thing I sought because with mist it was concealed, like steam arising from a pot. I tried to find, but I could not; my sightless eyes by fog were sealed. The morning mist concealed the plot. Encircling seas of white I fought, as drops within the air congealed, like steam arising from a pot. Then, as I stood there, lost in thought away from there the sunlight peeled the morning mist that concealed the plot; And through the veil the thing I sought a moment showed, and then resealed like steam arising from a pot; the morning mist concealed the plot. {Written June twentieth.}