In the stillness of dawn’s early light,
A veil of mist whispers through the air,
Cloaking the world in a soft, ghostly white,
A silent dance, so tender and rare.

Trees stand as shadows, dark and profound,
Their forms obscured by the fog’s gentle fold,
Each step forward a mystery unbound,
As the morning’s secrets silently unfold.

The world is hushed, wrapped in fog’s embrace,
Every sound softened, every sight dimmed,
A tranquil pause, a moment of grace,
In the fog’s ephemeral hymn.

As the sun rises, the mist starts to fade,
Revealing the day in its radiant glow,
But the memory of fog, in the mind, is laid,
A fleeting beauty that we will always know.