Poem called crisp winter morning

Poem called crisp winter morning 
A haze of fog lingering over the sky, 
The headlights of cars could be seen from the distance in the mists of winter months, has a grip on us a bitter cold wind hit my face and hot breath turned into cold air again as a light rain began to fall but a young man who was called Paul was still able to take his call on run to enabled him to get trim and fit even those we are in winter months.