Mist Song

The waves lick the pier-deck beams, a boat has passed upon the lake to shuffle the song upon the wind, ebbing whooshes..... The smoky waters still to tease slow with ancient whispers, The Loon leads upon the woody melody, some sylvan songster too beautiful to languish, still sleeping.... Not floating upon the dawn through misted peace; all ears have heard the first kiss of throngs, Gentle as waves upon the tide, from the very earth it seems.... the sweet haunting cry echoes souls through silts leagues deep, The very marrow of stone, and pine and leaf, A morning hushed but for its pretty plea, a male perhaps (so tender with feminine appeal) They all call so, pillowed their first-light throngs, Angels upon the deep billowed morn, Where the very clouds above have seemed to hover above the lake along, Their soothing cry fills the waking wood.... hushed waters, still as stars feeds the twilight with song (pining through hovering hats of mist)