Fog on a Winter Morning

I'm so cold

yet I'm never as bold

as to ask

for your warm hand.

I yearn for heat

and yet can't beat

that one task;

too salient to land

on an action.

She is a lark

ripping the bark

as she takes off.

A missed sight

into the night.

Mother weeps for her.

The lost child

gone in the wind.

Intuition works off our biases. By that, I mean our brain takes visual clues from the environment to conclude what is going on. Most of intuition must be subconscious, too.