Like lovers' whispered thoughts
Smoky mist clings close against the tree.
Tall, shrouded building stand cloud-soft
And fog-kissed sounds of night are muted low.
Not harsh nor ebony-black,
The sky is one with pavements blurred and gray.
The cheeks of passersby
Are softly touched as if with prayer. Poets Poets create gemstones.
Their flashing thoughts