The Moonlit Mist

The Moonlit Mist

The Moonlit mist tiptoed between the sleeping valley,

Caressing the Village and smallest alley,

Eerie, yet beckoning one from within their bed,

And planting unusual thoughts into a tired, but sane head,

Are those Stars being carried upon it’s silvery back,

Or the Souls of Men who have strayed from the righteous track,

In and out of every Street it would turn,

Till outside my door, I heard it yearn!,

Then, as if pushed by the breath of Angels it silently drifted away,

Back through the sleepy Valley before the light of Day,

In the early hours as I cautiously went to sleep,

Thankful, that my Soul I did keep.