By Davenport, Iowa In the Mist

Less wide it was than ever we’d expect

To come upon it once within a fog

And camp along its banks but to reflect

Upon the weather, sitting on a log;

We missed the Mississippi as it flowed,

And hearing didn’t see it being wide;

(It might’ve been a rivulet that showed)

To run between us and the other side.

But as we heard a fog horn blown aloud

We felt the passing of a massive barge

The misty density its banks might shroud,

The river didn’t hide how it was large;

While big it was, indeed, without a doubt,

Far larger than the cargoes barges bore

Although we couldn’t see that looking out

The tugboat blew its horn to listen for;

Increased in volume to a mighty sound

Awash across us waxing big in size

Until the horn encompassed us around

The river which was lost to our eyes

Seemed wider and much deeper to recall

In whatsoever way it was we missed,

From one detail—we’d get a sense of all—

Much like the Mississippi in the mist.