Dawn's Mist

Dawn’s Mist.


Blue iced lake perfectly smooth, snow fell
And the lake was white and stayed that way
Till winter waned and ice thinned unseen.
A Montana cowboy on his way home rode
Across and was not seen again till May.

As Spanish bluebells chimed, out of mist
He came but vanished when the morning
Sun dried tears of the youngest, tiny leaf
On a maple tree, this as verdant grass, on
Hilly fields, looked like the Atlantic sea