The fog, a mysterious presence, arrives ever so quietly,
Gently enveloping the world like a delicate embrace.
It takes the form of a cat, small and nimble,
Its paws soft, tiptoeing across the earthly space.
Perched high upon the harbor and city it rests,
Observing with an ethereal, vigilant gaze.
Unseen, yet all-seeing, it witnesses the life below,
A ghostly observer, in a tranquil, silent haze.
Its haunches are still, like statues of night,
A serene silhouette against the backdrop of dwellings.
No sound escapes its shadowy figure,
No disturbance arises wherever it is dwelling.
Soon, the feline fog proceeds on its way,
Leaving only a trace of dewy mist behind.
Its purpose unknown, its journey mysterious,
A transient visitor, to a realm undefined.
The harbor and city breathe a sigh of relief,
As the fog retreats, disappearing from sight.
But its presence lingers, an imprint on memory,
A reminder of enchantment in the midst of the night.
For the fog comes on little cat feet,
Its silent passage a dance of ephemeral grace.
Leaving us in awe of nature's wonders,
As it goes, leaving no trace.
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
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