The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
Over harbor and city
On silent haunches
And then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
Wrapping itself round
barn and meadow
It stretches,
And then moves on.
(with apologies to CS.)
5 comments:
Well played
I love yours, including a photo that accurately describes the poem, though which came first is a question. Methinks the fog.
Lovely.
I like your version.
Beautiful photos. Nice to be high enough to look down on the fog. Here I am stuck right in it today!
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