In the black furror of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked a lissome ear, And she eyed the moon so bright, And she nibbled of the green; And I whispered "Whsst! witch-hare," Away like a ghostie o’er the field She fled, and left the moonlight there.
Sounds of nature are like poetry. Like the wind rustling through the leaves and the almost silent whisper of the moon. If you listen closely you can hear the moon calling forth the animals of the night and guiding their paths through the darkness.