Is it the fog or is it just the steam That's rising from Italian coffee cups? Today I wonder if the sunlight beam Was ever cherished by the grownups. The fog makes blurry things that once were clear And make us doubt in clarity of mind Of humans who left sunlight way behind, Replacing emptiness of heart with fear. On foggy day you spot the silhouettes Of ones you love, though they are far away And that reminds you how sunbeam reflects In loving eyes. Thus, silently you pray That this damn fog will dissipate one day. Especially in the heads of those Who mistook thistle for some kind of rose. Kind wind will blow away the nasty fog, For kindness is the strongest driving force That powers sun and every mind agog In never-ending quest to find its source. And loving eyes will sit with you on day off On some Italian piazza in the sun And there'll be nothing more to be afraid of But maybe pizza slightly overdone.