Morning mist, by Britta Benson

Morning mist

The morning mist strides in thick and fast,

craving sly glances of my mortified soul.

My neighbours have all disappeared,

swallowed up whole along with their houses.

The world stops a few steps into my garden.

I’m set against this white grey veil,

beyond lies untold mystery and fairy folk,

protected by tiny pearls of water, hovering.

Ivy, the gymnast, is stretching, flexing tangled hooks,

a wanderer between one time and another,rooted.


Britta Benson

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website with
Get started
%d bloggers like this: