Morning Mists

Here like small, misguided clouds, the mists blow down
From the mountain which hangs above our town
And which whispers every morning to our valley
Into each and every tiny medieval alley
It is a new day
Come out and greet me
Come out and meet me
Face new challenges that may
Make this the start
Of a different part
Of your life
But I am driving through the mist
And though I get the gist
Of what the mountain is trying to tell me
I still have a problem trying to see the traffic light at the end of the road