I bought a cheap paperback of poetry today, and wanted to share this by Carl Sandburg
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet
It sits looking
over harbour and city
on silent haunches
and moves on
I just love the idea of fog being prtrayed as a cat, aproaching silently, staying around for a while, then moving on, having revealed nothing of it's purpose.
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1 comment:
must not have been enough heat to steal.
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