It was a cold night,
I lay in the fields lit by stars,
With my dreams to my right,
And left behind my cares.

My soul is silent; I do not speak,
Lest the mongers rumor me,
To break my silence weak,
My nakedness they see.

A snake passes slowly.
In the grass they stow,
Creeping, crawling stealthily,
Not a being shall know.

The water is cold yet gentle,
To my clammy hand,
I hear a throe of bustle,
Seeping from the land.

Silence in the cold of night,
Stirs the passion of life,
In the absence of my sight
I will not feel strife.

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