Morning mist

"Its rudder runs through the morning grass In its wake, the dew a sea of tranquility; Its early gray aura taps at window panes As to Morse code a waking message; It challenges the walking sun with playful scorn Softly, all living creatures come to life; The hues on nature’s landscape unfold Brush-stroked by a master’s hand; Nightlights are extinguished one-by-one As the sun attempts to peer through the glass; It creates hidden shadows for the nocturnal To the meek-eyed, a bargaining plea; Advancing, it covers the streams and the lakes As to see its own-misted reflection; Its content to be obscurely good As it lofts upon the mountains; The morning breeze blows a gentle wind as to challenge Its soft touch dissipates the mourning mist – their differences reconciled." - Robert Sheridan