The winter mist is rolling in 
Casting umbras and penumbras
On liquid walls conjuring
Illusions of nostalgic things
Like tapestries of sunny hills
And shadowlands where
valleys stretch
Into soft concaves
Of velvety darkness shimmering
At their edges, glimmering
In the halos of lit up orbs
Glittering, pulsating
Watching and observing all
Like eager sentries making sure
The invading mist
Covets no more
Than the silver kiss
That it bestows
On each doorway
As it tiptoes
In and then away
Into the darkness further along
All the while
As it glides
Whispering its vapory song.

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