The mist draws in, covers all the lands,
From the high hills, to the low sands.
A blanket of white, softens all you find,
Past the red poppies, and the telephone line.
Hills of the wolds, with nature all around,
Even the little birds, dont make a sound.
The low soft cloud, covers all you see,
Yet feeling so tranquil, and calming to me.
It now does vanish, all that I saw,
The mist does arrive, cant see any more,
All around me now, as I stand still,
The mist draws in, I'm at its will.