Before I woke,
The fog rose from its river bed,
And stepped across the strand
With muted feet, and careful tread,
Crossed trees and roofs and land.
Before I worked,
The wisps, like ghostly armies, fought,
And won a war like night
Wins nightly ‘cause it softly wrought
Surrender of the sight.
Before I rose,
The silent soldiers as a mass
Caused sky and land to meet.
When each for other both could pass,
Their labor was complete.
And then, I woke
With beams and warmed – my daily reign,
My place as king of day –
And worked. My toil was not in vain.
I melted fog away.
photo by Lynne Lancaster at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mrnQcoW/Misty+Morning
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.