In the early dawn when the world is still,
A gentle fog wraps the earth in its embrace.
Its tendrils weave through silent streets,
Whispering secrets in the cool morning air.

The trees stand cloaked in mystery,
Their branches softened by the veil.
A hush falls over the waking world,
As if time itself has paused to dream.

Footsteps are muffled on the wet ground,
Voices swallowed by the thickened air.
In this quietude, thoughts drift and wander,
Lost in the labyrinth of mist and memory.

As the sun rises, the fog begins to fade,
Its ethereal dance slowly retreats.
But the echoes of its presence linger,
A gentle reminder of the beauty in the unseen.