The lonely Place

The year turns and the veil thins,
in the lonely places shadows stir.
Best not linger long when passing after dark,
hurry home to bright hearth waiting.
Was that the rattle of a hoof on stones?
Just the wind among the dying reeds.
Did something stir the water's edge?
Just a frog swimming.
Through the trees, a glowing shape?
Just the moonlight on the water.
But wait! The wind is still, the night silent. No sound of frog.
And the moon is dark...