Soft light bathes the swamp in white;
It's eerie, yet at the same time, beautiful.
A doe looks up at the orb-of-night.
She looks, and she can't look away.
Its pale glow a mask of deception,
Holding her now… enchanted.
She begins to sway, and as she does,
Everything falls away.
The trees, the reeds, the noises —
Perhaps even the ground.
There is nothing left,
Just her (gently swaying) and the moon.