Early morning,
light with sun,
that’s still to rise.
Chilly is the air,
mist still rising,
from the pond.
A morning hush
mingles with
a rising damp.
Moon a ghost
shines dimly in
a misty vapour.
Outlook gloomy
her way forward
is not very clear.
Hunched up sad,
she stares down,
till a shiver runs.
Then a tear falls
slowly down to
wet her cheek.
Bob Blackwell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/melancholy-31/
