Early morning,
light with sun,
that’s still to rise.

Chilly is the air,
mist still rising,
from the pond.

A morning hush
mingles with
a rising damp.

Moon a ghost
shines dimly in
a misty vapour.

Outlook gloomy
her way forward
is not very clear.

Hunched up sad,
she stares down,
till a shiver runs.

Then a tear falls
slowly down to
wet her cheek.

Bob Blackwell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/melancholy-31/