This is what I saw when I looked out the window this morning. It felt like the starting point for a poem. Starting points can take you anywhere! They can lead you to all kinds of poems.
When I walked along the beach I saw one of the rock faces had become a fog face. I saw the fog racing out to sea down the valley as though it couldn’t wait to get to the water. And as I walked a little fog poem grew in my head. Because we are doing story poems at the moment, my poem became a story poem.
The Lake of Fog
At the end of our garden is the Lake of Fog.
The mother fog lives with the father fog
and their three fog daughters.
They eat fog toast for breakfast with fog butter
and their little foggy cat eats fog sardines.
Today is the second fog daughter’s birthday,
she is wearing a brightly coloured
dress so she can dance in the fog
and not get lost. She will blow
out seven candles and eat vanilla cake.
She will get a skipping rope and
an atlas of the world because
they never know where their lake
of fog will end up next.