GYWH.com

POETRY BOOK THREE: Your Writing Hand
Morning Mist

In the morning, skies so gray,
Before the sun lights up the day,
I chanced upon a morning mist
That left the leaves and grasstips kissed
With the aqua of the dew,
It left a feeling with me, too,
Something old and something new;
Something that comes with the mist again,
Never what, but always when.

Later the morning, skies so bright,
The sun now sends its yellow light,
It burns away my mist that’s born,
So very early in the morn.
It cannot burn my thoughts away,
Plans for tomorrow and today,
Feelings of something I cannot say;
Something that comes with the mist again,
Never what, but always when.

|| My Poetry ||