When the nights grow short
And the ground sheds the heat
It’s absorbed from the sun
In the circle of days,
There will form every once
In a clear, still night
A mist that hangs low
And close to the ground.
And it cloaks all the beings
Who already know
How to wrap the night
Around themselves.
Some people, too, share this
Curious gift—
They know how and when
To be wrapped in the mist.
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