On Some Misty Morning
On Some Misty Morning

On some misty morning, when the earth is hushed and still,
When fog obscures the treetops and hides both lake and rill,
Go reverently and quietly, and listen for the sounds;
You'll see the past and hear it, when the ghosts go on their rounds.

Ghosts don't come in sunlight, they don't come in blinding storm;
They gather in the silver light, when mist brings in the morn.
They move cautiously and slowly, to make the moment last,
Entertaining all who listen, with whispers of the past.

They talk of things that used to be, as they move along their way,
And, all too soon, they disappear, as mist turns into day.
You can watch in silent wonder, as their lines begin to form;
You can hear them - if you listen - on some shrouded misty morn.

-- Nancy Brister
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Music:  At the End of the Rainbow

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