by Vaughn Neeld

The poet said, "Fog creeps in
on little cat feet."

Fog also steals in
in wreaths of God’s own breath;

offers hope of rain
to wash away winter’s pall;

rises from sun-warmed
earth after cooling rains;

wraps jewel-leaved trees
in misty veils;

chills the air that
drives me home;

gives me comfort
behind warm glass.

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