Morning Commute

If fog comes in on little cat's feet

it sure left with a deafening roar

while passing a belching eighteen wheel treat

on a hill that had plenty in store

But then spread out in the valley below

as far as my gaze could see

was a forest of white, a dazzling show

sunlight on the pure canopy

Every branch, every twig was an icy delight

every bush was as same as the trees

descending that slope put the darkness to flight

in my mind I would fall to my knees

Does the maker look now at this day at this hour

to enjoy what his painting would be

was for him to enjoy, does he rest with his power

or maybe, was he thinking of me

Whatever, whomever, I'm thankful today

to have seen such a wonderful sight

it ended too soon, the morning display

when softness gave witness to might