Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Thick fog shrouded the Blue Ridge Parkway
Straining our eyes, barely able to see
The last two winding miles we traveled
Were rather frightening to some degree

Lucky enough not to have run off the road
Southward on our way to Otter Creek
The next exit we took, carefully descending
A natural setback in plans this vacation week

Down from those foggy mountains we came
The best of these conditions we would make
Driving down into a familiar misty vale
Tonight we would camp at Sherando Lake

Tents pitched, settled in, we made our fire
The surrounding ridges, obscured in fog
All the while our party was entertained
By the loud trilling of a gray treefrog

The shrill passion of his evening song
Lovesick, not giving his voice a rest
At such no one could possibly complain
As here we were only his humble guests

Over Sherando Lake and up into the boughs
Ghostly swirling tendrils of mountain mist
Rather eerie, but mysteriously beautiful
A view our smoke filled eyes could not resist

The treefrog continued his trilling song
Drifting fog seemingly blotting out the dark
Illuminated by the fire, a weird golden glow
Some miles north of our intended mark

Deep in our cups, a calming sense of ease
Quite sublime at camp in these wooded hills
Raising many a cheer to this foggy night
And the treefrog’s loud lovesick trills

Rather suddenly his lovesick singing ceased
We bade him goodnight and a fond farewell
And continued with our heathenish revelry
Happily camped for tonight in this misty vale

The fog thinned into raggedy swirling shreds
Allowing us a view of the silvery moonrise
No one seeing her silently drift into our camp
Somewhat sodden, she caught us by surprise

Her strange eyes were like blue sapphires
Her long thick hair was as pale as the fog
A slight grin played on her pearly white lips
On her bare bosom sat the little treefrog

Never did those pearly white lips open
Yet we all could hear her musical talk
Advancing in slowly like drifting mist
We were amazed, as she did not walk

Although her words were quite unfamiliar
Their meaning seemed somewhat clear
I knew full well we were in no danger
As her strange demeanor bespoke not of fear

Reverent, but unafraid, we returned polite response
But she only laughed, then drifted back into the fog
Somewhat shaken, we all took a long deep quaff
Again entertained by her trilling gray treefrog

A long but well told tale.

she caught us by surprise

Her strange eyes were like blue sapphires
Her long thick hair was as pale as the fog
A slight grin played on her pearly white lips
On her bare bosom sat the little treefrog...

Like these lines.