The Ozark hills wear morning fog like a shawl;
This sleepy scene, wrapped in soft cotton haze,
Is shielded from unnatural negatives.

Snuggled together under a blanket of dew,
Lush grass hides treasures of flowers and critters;
All are warmed, within moments, by sunshine instead.

Sacredly indistinct throughout the night,
Trees now reach high with spiky naked limbs,
Seeking rebirth in the golden arms of Zeus.

Overwhelmed by the power of simple harmony,
Her credibility is reduced by this tranquil scene.
How insignificant she is in this land of balance!

If only an opaque screen were enough to soften
Hard edges created and borne by humanity!
If clouds absorbed conflict, would unity prevail?

But the insulating fog must rise with the sun;
Life must go on, after all. And so they remain
Unconnected individuals lacking equilibrium.

Go away, Sun. Brotherhood is cozy.