The field shone dun
and glinted golden
'neath the pale light
of the waxing moon.

Raw stubble graced
the darkening earth
and a few faded stalks
remained to creak
in the wind.

The night was dark
and starless
and grey cobwebs
streamed 'cross
the shining moon.

A faint hoarfrost
pressed to the earth
and brought a nip
of chill to the air.

She wandered out
in her old-fashioned
nightgown, white
and striking mid
the 'beams;
her hair was flowing
long and loose
and blowing
in the wind.

The remains
of the harvest
were rough
against her bare feet
that solemnly paced
the paths of moonbeams.

She was out to rejoice
with her brother,
the moon,
shining gently overhead.

So there, in the chill,
her breath hanging
on the air,
she began
a stately dance
that charmed the stars
that hid behind
their grey veils.

Her dance charmed
the fieldmice
out of their warm burrows;
it charmed
the grey geese,
singing softly
on the wind;
it charmed
a red deer,
statuesque and graceful
who bowed
and wove
and joined her dance.

Her dancing
charmed the stag back
into the man
he once was.
And with her
red-haired love,
she danced all the night.

By morning,
he was gone
with a leap
and a bound
and a whisper
of dry grasses.

And she,
tired, disheveled,
feet raw from the field,
sat on the frosty ground
and welcomed
the warming sun.