A pale light glowing
Streaming beetween the leaves
Bright hair flowing
Around approaching beings

Walking with apparent grace
Silk rustling around their feet
So are solemn, some full of joy
With tears bitter or laughter sweet

They walk on with apparent purpose
They never stop or falter
As if on an imprtant mission
At which they dare not balk

And they are past us
Their laugher fades
The woods seem darker now
And I turn away

I feel a sadness
I can’t explain
But that those beings so bright and fair
Shall never return is plain