In the gentle hush of morning light,
The fog rolls in, a silken shroud,
Draping the world in mystery’s might,
Softly whispering, never loud.

Trees stand as sentinels in the gray,
Their forms blurred in the quiet mist,
As shadows dance in the break of day,
In nature’s gentle, silent twist.

The world feels paused, in tranquil grace,
As dreams linger in the waking hour,
Wrapped in the fog’s tender embrace,
Where time surrenders to its power.

Yet as the sun begins to rise,
The mist retreats, its secrets kept,
Leaving behind a brightened sky,
Where once the fog so softly crept.