Mysterious Mist
Mysterious mist,
how I have missed you
wrapping and unwrapping
your gifts of seashore and sand.
So delicate, your will o’the wisp touch,
your fingers dampening my curls,
a delicacy of delight your butterfly kiss
laid upon forehead and cheek.
A distorting mirror in a circus
or a sideshow at the fair,
you twist things round your little fingers,
complicating our simple lives,
shape-changing them with dreams
and visions conjured from thin air.
Now you are here again, in my garden.
I welcome your presence among the trees,
your spirit enveloping the bees’ balm,
your crowning gift, soft-toned cone-flowers
where Monarch butterflies drift and reign.
rogermoorepoet 
Beautiful mysterious mist.dear moor!!i l m fond of dt climate who reminds me my beautiful past n awake many imaginations.
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I think the mist is everywhere: both in the physical world and in that mental word where we drift from here to there, never idle, always dreaming …
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Even though mist is in d physical world or mental world but it is intoxicating without wine,so i like mist….dis mist is able to remove every disturbance n hide those into itself.
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That is a lovely way of expressing it, Aruna. Thank you.
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You are most welcome,dear roger.!!
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So commonplace and yet such an essential ingredient of nature’s many blessings. So sensitively expressed in your poem, Roger.
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Thanks, Roland. I saw lots of mist and fog down at St. Andrews. The Passamaqoddy and the Fundy have much in common, including the fog.
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Lovely and mysterious. I love all the ‘curling’ imagery.
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Thanks, Jane. It makes my hair curl again, just slightly, at the edges. I never thought I’d miss all those curls!
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