Morning mist
embraces these forsaken streets,
giving them an air of mystery;
like a veil
hides undiscovered beauty.
Slipshod
building facades
frown narrowly
on a lone passerby.
A lank and dreary fellow,
making his necessary mile
before the Sun
burns away the clouds
to reveal the day.
Dew drops cling
to hat and coat
and damp chill reaches out
to grip the skin.
This lean hour
is ripe for secrets
and skullduggery,
as if the city
has not yet gasped
and yawned
through its first breaths.
Echoes of falling footsteps
ring clearly;
unobscured,
by grey
and dreary
and melancholy.
Only sinners wake at this hour,
either languishing in their crimes,
or waking early enough to pay for them.
What fate,
of that tall traveller
through pre-dawn mist?
What secrets must he hold?
Eyes that behold secrets
in the silver-dark
of summer mornings.
Sins and beauty concealed
under a cool sheen
of morning mist.
HG – 2017
