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I saw the mist kissing the mountains
Stroking it gently with soft airy hands
Whispering tales of love
As the envious sun intruded.
Reluctant to wake:
The trees sweat—cold sweat
Reminiscing the night that hurried away
When it heard the footsteps of dawn
Galloping from the east.
Indeed the moon treated them better,
And the stars only gave the light
That would let them see each others hips.
But day, oh! day is no lover of romance
The sun–harsh, cruel but useful
So much so that the mountain cannot resist it’s intrusion
Because it is the day-the sun, that keeps it alive for the night.
