• Flowing in the moonlight air,
    Tatters in her aburn hair,
    On her shoulders low and fair,
    At nightfall in the Forest.

    Spinning on the dewey ground,
    Twirling on- round and round
    All the leaves do her surround,
    At midnight in the Forest.

    Waiting for the day to come,
    Staring at the rising sun,
    'Til all the creatures' sleep is done,
    At dawn in the Forest.

    All the silence of night is torn,
    Wake up! Wake up! says the morn,
    She twirls again- the night forlorn,
    At daybreak in the Forest.

    Walking back the flowers bloom,
    Along the path will she resume,
    London in the afternoon,
    Lunchtime near Forest.

    Walking through the crowded street,
    The clopping of the horses feet,
    Echos in the summer's heat,
    An evening in the Town.

    Adjacent the street lies her haven,
    Upon it sits a quiet raven,
    The grass around neatly shaven,
    A house in the Town.

    By her bed a silent prayer,
    She sleeps and dreams unaware,
    Dreaming of the forest there,
    A dream of the Forest.