Fog - A Pantoum

Written on a misty morning on the farm.

The fog on the moor wraps me close in its arms,

It sinks into the cracks of oak and ash.

It rolls out like a carpet through the grey sky;

Leaves drip with water, as the fog sits, heavy.

It sinks into the cracks of oak and ash;

The world is silent in mysterious respect.

Leaves drip with water, as the fog sits, heavy.

Mountain ponies, splotched with grey, stomp the grass.

The world is silent in mysterious respect,

The smell of earth, and grass, and rain.

Mountain ponies, splotched with grey, stomp the grass.

A flute sounds out, hidden somewhere in the grey.

 

The fog on the moor wraps me close in its arms,

It rolls out like a carpet through the grey sky.

A flute sounds out, hidden somewhere in the grey.

The smell of earth, and grass, and rain.

How to write a pantoum