It’s A Misty Morning

Shrouded in mist and vapour and cold wisps, The sun has not risen as yet, But the mist encircling, Enveloping it all around. There is nothing as that you can see, I can mark, Only mist and vapour around, All around, I cannot see you, you cannot see me, You standing close to me, a little far from And I a little away from, But you seeing me not, I seeing you not. The beauty of the misty morning lies it in its shroud and mystery, The power to bewitch and encircle within The landscape around the place, When visibility lessens And eyesight appears poorer, But nature has its own plan of work, Beauty to endow with. The morning-time mist And the world shrouded in mystery, Mist, vapour, some sense of coldness and poor visibility, The shroud so flimsy, so spread off That it is difficult to sheer off. The morning and the night full of mists, Looking subfusc and opaque, Smoky-smoky and vaporous Has a beauty of its own, The mystery endowing. The mist hiding in the sun And the rays struggling to break forth Or shine over the gossamers Wet with dews And lo, it is cold! Visibility so poorer, It is hazy all around.