Nymph

With crusted eyes from little sleep I stepped out on the sand, the morning mist a coverlet o'er all, both lake and land. And then as if a waking dream or flight of fancy to my sight I thought I saw a spritely nymph come dancing in the dark and light. Entranced was I to see such sport displayed in front of me, she swooped on wings of gossamer, cavorting merrily. In and out of my purview she flew with graceful ease, accompanied by flute and lyre to decorate the breeze. Then rooted to the spot I watched the vapors disappear, with them the image of the nymph whom I had held so dear. Was she a daydream, fancy's flight, a soulless apparition, or is she real, and can she feel the moment, and her mission?