The Fog
The morning, a cold dog's nose
Rubs and frosts my window pane
I pat its head, it licked my toes
I trembled in the pleasure vain
Opened the door and there in white
Sits the shaggy dog gaping still
Big it was, bigger than the night
Taller much than the trees and hill
It yawns across the misty lawn
And licks the dripping grass so wet
Sorry, it did not chew up the dawn
The work day in rigid stone is set
With foggy heart I embrace the day
And wiped its foot against the sun
The hot stone mat, my will of clay
Day's labor in this embrace has begun
While the dog naps out of our sight
Giving us room to wear out the day
The fog will come again in the night
Balming the bruises of work today.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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