Daily poem: 42 Misty morning

Some time around seven this morning a thick mist rolled down from the high ground. By eight when I got out, it had mostly gone.



A sea of mist laps against my window


morning shore awash in white

birds sing the veiled sun


sun-fired meadow

smokes and steams

winter’s fading breath.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

13 thoughts on “Daily poem: 42 Misty morning”

    1. Thank you. It’s been chilly for April, and last night was cold. The seasons don’t change at a constant pace, but in fits and starts. I think you’re probably right about the way we change without even being aware of it.

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