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A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides -
You may have met him? Did you not
His notice instant is-

The grass Divides as with a Comb,
A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
And opens further on-

He likes a Boggy Acre,
A Floor to Cool for corn,
But when a boy and barefoot
I more than once at noon

Have passed I thought a whip lash
Unbraiding in the sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled and was gone

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow
Attended or alone
Without a tighter Breathing
And zero at the Bone

-Emily Dickinson