Fogbound
Fog enveloping everything in sight,
Cold dampness wrapping it's self around villages,
Entire valleys cut off from sunshine,
Green fields turned grey by mist.
Fogbound until the Sun works it's magic,
Hours of dankness and ghostly greyness left,
My green and pleasant homeland hidden from view,
How much longer before the sun burns away the fog?
High summer in the wold's and we still get fogbound,
Early morning mists and evening gloom,
Days in June completely fogbound oh so gloomy,
As for November being fogbound for a week is no fun.
By Christopher Tye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem