Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago

Mists of Morning

Earth was wet with dew,
Fog rolled over the hills,
Gentlest breeze blew,
And with it, the chills!

Morning of the mist,
That rolled in at dawn;
But what a strange twist-
Everything seemed gone!

Gray was that day.
Lost, the sun.
A walk by the bay,
To ponder some phenomenon.

Early morning mist,
That preceeded the blaze,
Could not resist,
But to vanish in haze!
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