Fog

Born by the bay of the Golden Gate, I truly love the fog,
morning tea, tugging on a sweater, perhaps going out to jog.
The cycle of morning mist, burning off to sun, then fog rolling in again,
is one of my favorite cycles of nature that help me to think and to understand.

I reflect on the fog in my own brain that shelters an emotional time,
oh, how confused I must have been to think that leaving you was right,
and if I could remember that day more clearly it might break my heart,
for I know without a single doubt that it was such folly to depart.

The next morning, the fog had rolled in once again from the sea,
like it had performed its act of marine cloud cover, this time, just for me,
to sooth me and to protect me as best as it could,
while I despaired my decision, my tears continuing to flood.

The sun slowly peaked through the fog, to remind me, so gently with its light,
of the natural cycle of the fog that would lift so I could see its sunny skies,
for my sadness would fade away and love would be revealed again in time,
and on this morn, the fog wisely stayed a little longer, to help ease my mind.