Scarborough Mist

 

In Scarborough Harbour's embrace, a mystic veil, The mist descends, the seascape's form concealed, The boats lie still, their outlines barely seen, As foghorn's mournful wail resounds unseen.

The harbor's heart, once vibrant and alive, Now slumbers deep, where echoes softly strive, The whispers of the waves, the seagulls' cries, Lost in the fog's ethereal, misty rise.

A sense of mystery, a touch of fear, Envelops all, as foghorn's mournful breath Fills the still air, a haunting, poignant sound, That echoes through the harbor, far and wide, A symphony of mist, in Scarborough's tide.