I cross a moor where stars are white.

I match the swiftest swallows flight

Over a wide, a windy plain.

My feathered feet return again.

I seek the silence after day,

I sink in shadow, purple gray.

Above I hear the raucous storm

I burrow deep, alert but warm.

I stray through ever moving shades

My dreams are drawn in misty glades

I scramble down long screes of cloud

And wrap my fear in fine-spun shroud..

I walk with specters, shun the light

Who calls me from the realm of night?