Comes a comforting fog in summer

Twilight, and with its slightest turning a cape of cloud-spun air enfolds the brawny day. It cools a city's brass to closest quietude, and stills the sunburned throb to pulse of garden mint. Now, nothing is afraid as if some loving hand has woven all about an ark of vibrant fiber.

All cradled in this light the gentle creatures walk, while tenderest of gold mists each a work of art.