Whispers in the Mist
This is the time she hates the most
The early hours before dawn
When the world lies quiet and still
When his words come floating
Back to make her feel
And though when spoken
They sound very real
They still are just words
Beautiful and sweet
Yet nothing more than
Whispers in the mist,
Fleeting, empty, and cold,
Fleeing with the breaking of dawn
And the flowing of her tears.
