The moon in her fair grace

Did remove her silvered veil, woven of

The laughter of the stars. Lord Night

Laid dreams of sunsets at your dappled feet.

Hands of pitch and elegant silver

Grace your form of bundled wind,

Wrapped in the bright strings of

Your pale loam eyes. Who are you,

Little wolf?

You who hides the sun’s secrets in

Your eyes, you who makes the wind shrill raucous

Jaybird laughter. You wise fool,

You carefree player.

Who are you, half-wild sprite of the wood,

Pelt tangled with the favor of the promise of a thousand

Adventures? You who carries the golden song

Of a thousand lightening bugs, with your

Most rakish smile?

Who are you, she who brings me each horizon

On fleet paws stained with the whisper of tomorrow and endless

Joy, spun by the sun on her golden spindle? You who lay at my

Feet with a thousand stolen smiles? Who else, but my wayward Piper in

The mist?