In the quiet of the morning light,
The fog descends, a shroud so white,
Veiling the world in soft embrace,
Every corner a secret place.

Whispering winds through trees do glide,
Shadows blend, where dreams reside,
Each step taken, a journey unknown,
As fog turns the familiar to stone.

The silence deep, a gentle cloak,
In this mist, the world awoke,
A dance of spirits, calm and slow,
In the fog, time seems to flow.

When the sun breaks through the veil,
A new world emerges, tales to tell,
The fog retreats, but leaves behind,
A memory of its tender bind.