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Fog by Carl Sandburg

Fog

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)
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Andrew said…
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.
April 9, 2010 at 8:10 PM
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