The fog rolls in with silent grace,
A gentle shroud in morning’s place.
It whispers secrets to the trees,
A dance of shadows in the breeze.

The world it softens, hides away,
In muted tones of silver gray.
Paths once clear now fade from view,
In this quiet, mystical hue.

Each step is measured, slow, and sure,
Through the mist that feels so pure.
A world transformed by nature’s art,
Where silence speaks to every heart.

As sun begins to pierce the veil,
The fog withdraws its gentle tale.
Yet echoes linger in the air,
Of morning’s fog, so sweet and rare.