The Scrimshanderess
I walked into the night under the light of the moon
The wind made silver waves in the grass
Across the meadow sat the scrimchandress
Whittling by the light of the moon
Her hair waving in rhythm- filling the sky
Her dress a billowing cloud
As lithe and pale as the shavings that fell
From next to her came a growl
Then the pant of a smile
From the cade she had saved
Her constant companion in life
No word was spoken to disturb the rhythmic carving
I stood for an hour watching sleeping ducks down the hill
Battling the wind on the pond
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