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Poem

As I watch the mist awake from the forest floor. 

It appears like a shimmering silver carpet. 

Coating the ferns and vines in its magic. 


The moon begins  to set, willing the sun to appear. 

The creatures of the woods, soon to be abed. 

I realize I don't matter here; I'm just a visitor to this place. 


Allowed to envision this wondrous gift of nature. 

A moment in time, for 'tis only  a moment. 

Til it disappears until another day is called. 


It settles along the base of ancient trees, 

The Guardians of the forest. 

Whose massive limbs bend, but never break. 


The mist will soon dissipate, to be vanquished in the 

warmth of the morning sun. 

Leaving me wanting more, this vision of beauty. 


The magic found only in the early break of day. 

The gift of the Morning Mist

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