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?