A poem. "An ethereal figure, she glides through the night"
Clad in the most desirable garments Heaven ever sought to create.
She tip-toes through the forest,
For the orthodox, she dares not wake.
Pale moonlight plays on her features,
Sharp shadows drawn tight, but no one sees.
Here in her midnight dance she is finally free from constraint.
The willow is her guiding spirit, the owl her new mind,
The oaks her fierce protectors, and her heart in the moon-tide.
Oh, how she loves the night with the same passion she despises the day!
For in the light she would burn the earth to its core
And in the dark bathe it with love.
But a mere dalliance with the stars was never enough.
When the sun dares rise she thrusts herself upon the forest floor,
Begging to be one with the sky.