A wind whirled over an open sea,
As fog made its advances through The Gate,
Heading toward the urban menagerie,
To surely diminish their sunny fate.
This scene from across the Bay we possess;
Peering out this vista, I see a sign.
For as the chill fights to touch my chest,
Your soft hand slowly grabs ahold of mine -
You are really here. Before my own eyes.
Standing in the Light, holding my chilled hand,
As fog creeps toward us to make cloudy skies.
Yet, among the attack, in light we stand.
       So atop this vista, I must insist,
       That we Love; whether in sun or in mist.