A Gentle Mist

A gentle mist of rain falls
No bird song, only breeze
Fragile, moist, the moss calls
Takes its moment
Glistens in the trees
Clammy warmth, from sky to soil

Damp salve against the dry
Of kiln-baked days, now past
Parched leaves, already browning
Hungry for the dew
Drawn from the heavy air
Before the fall
They breathe their last