The world lies hushed,
laden with fog,
heavy with the weight,
of those affording sleep.
I alone, left awake,
to roam the realm,
these dreamers never seek.

Shape shift,
feriously fashioning feet
into hooves.
To secretly eat of my own garden.
The only sign of my passing,
impressions left in soft soil,
nestled in a bed of corn silk,
beneath shining stars,
longing for the cool crisp
air of autum.