Fog Dance Gentle wispy fingers, stride away from their layers of morning dew. As if to wake, they stretch their arms, brushing past the meadows. They tease the sun, rising to poke his yellow hands, reaching toward their joyful antics. Though rebuffed, the sun will soon be victorious. the watery apparitions crouch down. enveloping the Earth, they embrace their master such do they love their terrestrial home. The Yellow King prevails, However and The fingers dissolve. They depart their morning pleasures, retreating into molecular contentment, until a new dawn permits their return.
Very good structure and wording in this. I think I enjoyed the way you weave your pictures the most. I also love the title.
Wonderful execution! I agree with KittenX, the structure and flow let the poem breathe. It felt effortless, no distractions from the words. Good job!
good stuff, really like the fresh morning sunny feel of it all, you can almost smell the earth awakening
