Spirits of the night abound,
They cross the sky without a sound.
Unhindered by the tortured leaves
On branches bent in icy breeze.
An eerie light through crevice creeps,
And falls upon the one that sleeps.
A tender kiss, a fleeting chance,
Permits her soul once more to dance.
But fickle moon is wrenched away,
Leaving just the ghosts to play.
Nor screech of owl, nor clap of thunder,
Can wake her from this ancient slumber.
For she, and all six feet around,
Are never troubled by the sound.