A Foggy, Froggy Poetry Friday

I'm longing for a quiet, misty morning. One of those days where I can get up alone (stay in bed, boys!) and take my pot of tea out on the patio to sit, and sip and listen. Here are some poems that make me feel as though I'm almost there.

This first poem is by Carl Sandburg.

Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking

over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

The second is by Aileen Fisher.

I Like It When It's Mizzly
I like it when it's mizzly
and just a little drizzly
so everything looks far away
and make- believe and frizzly.

I like it when it's foggy
and sounding very froggy.
I even like it when it rains
on streets and weepy windowpanes
and catkins in the poplar tree
and me.

Happy Poetry Friday, all!