The Fog Poem by Hal Caufield

There was a chill in the air,
Gray December skies,
A fog rolled in from the bay,
But you were not there.

And all the beauty of
Gray and bluish hues,
Which suit you best,
Were wasted on the gulls,
The melancholy and emptiness
Of your absence.

I live in this fog,
You know.
I breathe its mist
With every breath.
I marvel at its
Immense beauty,
But wonder tormented
Over its rocky shoals,
Not knowing if when
It lifts you will be there.