In the hush of dawn, the fog descends,
A shroud of mist, where silence bends,
Shadows dance in soft embrace,
Cloaking earth in tender lace.

The world retreats in muted tones,
As if the sky and earth are sewn,
By threads of dew, in silver-grey,
A dreamlike hush that holds the day.

Trees emerge like ghostly spires,
Whispering secrets to the briars,
In this realm of quiet grace,
Time itself slows down its pace.

When the sun begins to rise,
Piercing through with golden eyes,
The fog retreats, a fleeting guest,
Leaving peace within our chests.