Alone, she sits on the meadows green

Caressed gently by the gypsy wind

With her nimble fingers she picks up:

Strings of dreams–from the lofty canopy of clouds

Amidst butterfly kisses and dandelion wishes

She strums a melody so sweetly divine

Wooing the dusk to finally recline

Twilight blushes into a lavender pink

Coyly laying down in the arms of night