It’s one degree outside,

sunrise over the city

covered in fog.

Can see over it all

as I pull up the blinds,

on seventh floor.

Clear sky. Clear blue sky.

Leaves turning golden,

nights drawing out,

orange light of a new morning.

Fires being put out,

as chimneys start to smoke.

This is ‘season of mists

and mellow fruitfulness’,

a certain peace befalls

a busy morning.

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