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Fog gathers round,
without a sound
Forms auras about the streetlights
It's a dreary December day
Neath the bridge across the bay
The days begin to look… more like the nights
Foghorns moan their mournful brays
That drone across the wharves and quays
Echoes off of Alcatraz…soon fading out of sight
Ferries feel their fitful ways
Through miasmic, murky haze
fade away in shadows grey…dark, dank and tight
The spires of the bridge soaring high
Seem like fairylands up in the sky
At rest atop the fog so light
Just another dreary, December day
On foggy San Francisco bay…but
To me a day that feels
…just right…
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem