The fog drifts in and out, weaving amongst the trees,
Slowly devouring the black stumps,
Tempting it to collapse and give up.
The fog licks at the lampposts,
Gliding along the empty streets with Wind, it’s graceful partner,
Which manipulates the abandoned accessories left on the sidewalk.
Frost occasionally strolls along the bare streets
And is then driven away in the summer time, by Smog.
But the whole time, Fog stays;
It’s emotionless glare transparent
Through the emptiness of the place.
