The fog comes
in on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg
(photo found at five non blondes)
1 comment:
I have always loved this one. It is one of the first non-rhyming poems I read as a kid and discovered what the "essence" (for lack of a better term) of poetry is beyond rhythm.
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