Fog

I would wait for weather right

And when it is, it’s often night.

I roll and cover hills and plains

And reduce the vigil of lords and thanes.

 

Oh land lamented why must you submit

To my unfurled puff of vaporous white mist.

For I grovel the ground, grinding the air

And crying upon windows in utter despair.

 

I sweep and sway along the wind I own,

A foreboding wonder steeped in the unknown

For what I behold are myths and legends.

 

I rise with light from the almighty sun

Disappearing into the heavens, into the cloud-hall

Where I shall remain till time bids me call.

Now I must ask you what am I?

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