Her fast feet flit like gentle moth wings
Barely touching ground
Through the trees she glides with ease
A white ghost in the dead of night
Like mist upon a breeze
Come bush or ditch or fallen log
No stumble make her nimble paws
Nor exhaustion does her seize
No thought has she for rules or laws
Mere mortals do abide
From east to west the land is hers
‘Til darkness does subside