The morning fog creeps in so sly,
Enveloping all under its hazy sky.
A shroud of mist, a cloak of grace,
Immersing the world in an eerie embrace.
Through the silence, whispers sigh,
A mystic aura, where dreams can fly.
Nature’s secrets veiled in the dense white,
A serene enchantment, a wondrous sight.
The stillness grips every blade of grass,
Enveloping the earth with a ghostly mass.
A tranquil spell, a hush profound,
Where time stands still, without a sound.
Amidst the mist, a sense of wonder,
An ethereal dance, a spell to ponder.
A world transformed, in morning’s shroud,
Where magic whispers, both soft and loud.