Morning Mist

Rolling down, over the mountain top,
your form devours all it sees,
cloaking the distant scenery
in a cold, white blanket.

The green trees fade away
while the blue sky quietly sleeps.
Red brick houses become lost
in a cold, white blanket.

Flocks of birds play in the foreground,
unaware of the danger I see,
but as the mist lifts and the sun returns,
the birds knew best, not me.

Reappearing from below,
everything remains unscathed,
still as beautiful and scenic as before,
free from the cold, white blanket.