At fortnight it awakes and grows
It runs between a shoe and toes
It hisses, rustles, up it goes
And resonates

It softly comes, it quietly leaves
Behind a knot one can unweave
In hundred ways

The mist that falls upon the lawn
On summer days

Then, in the hour before the dawn
It resonates

Its tongue is pretty poor for words
It speaks instead in subtle chords
No one can play

There, in the shades, black, blue and green
There, in the cut between the scenes
There, where it hardly can be seen
It resonates