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