Blissful, Mist-Full

A poem of quatrains

Photographic Credit: Joshua Sortino, Unsplash

Blissful, mist-full
Morning air.
Fresh rain makes
The city bare.

Though it’s chilly,
The light reflects
As blinding rays
And glistening specks.

We step outside with
Coats, bare feet.
The giddy cold felt
When we run down the street.

Mama says to
Bring our scarfs,
Which we drape past the
Road the river carves.

Fallen logs span
Up the hill,
That brings adventure
And a lazy thrill.

Blissful, mist-full
Morning air.
Life is sweet,
Life is fair.

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