from the high balcony,
when i view
the cityscape is still
under the spell of chill.
early morning mist
the happy daughters of winter,
dance in an intoxicated mood,
swirling, twisting and quickly changing mind,
in a lively display of female grace,
now running away to dance
with romantic wind,
meeting confidently his challenge.
then the sun, red faced, impatient
tries to force his way in,
the female power of mist is now evident,
his attempts didn't that much succeed,
these lithe maiden won't stand
his macho attitude, it's amply clear.    
           Slighted sun awaits
           the mirth of mist to subdue,
           the moment they get tired.