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THE MIST


mist

It rolls over the hills,
A mystic splendour to transform,
Like a mantle of gossamer beauty,
As the night gives way to the dawn.

It engulfs the spider’s web,
Glistening in the morning cold,
Jewels of exquisite beauty,
Bedecked with silver and gold.

It creeps along the greenery,
Then freezers in the night,
Jack Frost pays a visit,
To create a carpet of white.

It moves in ghostly silence,
To swallow everything around,
Like a phantom possessed,
I t visits without a sound.

Its one of natures many gifts,
That bedecks this world of ours,
She spins a web of beauty,
That covers the trees and flowers.

It creates a blanket of secrecy,
Of everything it has kissed,
Clings to Mother Nature,
That’s the toil of the mist.

Malcolm G Bradshaw

About poetreecreations

I am an author writer publisher web administrator I run poetry workshops in the community. My published Manners childrens poetry book can be found at www.waterstones.com

4 responses

  1. Malcolm, as an agnostic, I admire your belief in God and His hand in everything. As a wannabe poet I admire your skill as a poet even more. Best wishes, Peter.

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  2. Great imagery

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