The first foggy morn


I awoke to a grey dawn.

A heavy, damp grey,

no summer float misty morn,

just a sombre start of day.

Yet in it’s cloying drape

was a beauty of some kind,

as it clung to the shape

of all it could find,

needy for some touch,

unsure why it’s here,

never moving much

making sight unclear.

More blanket than sheet

arriving unseen in the night

hovering up a few feet

and delaying the light,

this cold opacity faint

this damp grey taint.

11 thoughts on “THE FIRST FOGGY MORN

  1. There is something magical about these type of mornings Nigel and you have managed to capture it in this excellent poem. Reading it creates so many vivid images. Fairy-tale or horror?

    Liked by 1 person

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