Trace

Her steps are not so tall,
Her face like mirror, round and small;
She came to me in ecstasy,
To show me what I want to see.

She sang when the sky was with the moon,
Danced to the leaves with a tender tune;
I was covered in a place so pretty known,
Lied on the root much overgrown.

One step up she sang with me,
My heart was on her dancing face;
It mellowed well through the breezing tree,
Her joys had left a little trace.