Seeping like early morning mist
Across a vale of grey-green bliss.
Over crumbling fallen scree
Around the bare leafed chestnut tree.
And where the tall grass grows
As soft and slow as drifting snow.
Eyes preceding where she’s leading
Nose for guiding, long tail gliding.
Silent feet with stealth are stepping
Past the flowing stream that’s dreaming.
Towards the hidden buried burrows
Where fear sleeps beneath the furrows.
