Everything
it seems is fast asleep
as the mist rolls across the Firth,
bringing the horizon to our feet.
An
uninvited guest, a silent stranger.
Mist as with life, is like a vapour;
it appears for a time then vanishes away.
An eerie
silence hovers over river, hill and town.
Dawn is breaking chimes the clock,
but time is of no essence for the mist to take stock.
It seems
forever and a day before daylight breaks our way,
as the mist spreads its mantle,
covering the early morning dew.
Then the
vale of silence is rent in two
as the piercing fog-horn blares.
Its sound is coarse, but a sound that cares.
Birds join
in their dawn chorus, traffic rises to the bait,
as people go about their business,
rushing, rushing to avoid being late.
The
uninvited guest is leaving as quietly as he came,
Leaving behind the same old hustle and bustle
of our topsy-turvy world, for which, he is not to
blame.