The Nightly Fog
The fog is heavy, burning bright
Through distant beams this heavy night.
It does not see me sitting here,
Waiting in the milky light.
The glowing orbs seem floating near,
Unmoving, elongated spheres.
Their faded rays are never warm,
Their light no help from dark and fear.
Why does the night now take this form?
Who benefits from a misty storm?
I sit awake and wonder why
The fog must oppress and transform.
On a table that is nearby
Sits a clock on whose hands I rely,
‘Till the sun shall banish this fog,
Bringing the morn to earth and sky.