Scotch Mist

Disappeared from vision

In the haar that rolled swift in,

Muting voice and mission

Stranded chill upon your skin.

Scotch mist, though descended

In the valleys and the glens,

Retreats to sea but dampness

Clings to clothes of men.

Though rare, in all its heat,

Is the sun that warms our shores,

It ever rises, resurrected,

Clears, with light, heals sores.

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