When the day turns to night in a cosmic hide-and-seek, the sky wears its shadowy mask, dancing in celestial mystery, leaving sunbathers puzzled and astronomers delighted.

I live in dark tunnels, or so people say, I turn folks to stone if they wander my way.

In spring I am gay in handsome array; in summer more clothing I wear; when colder it grows I fling off my clothes; and in winter quite naked appear.

Tiny winged dancers, Six legs on a silent quest, Nature's small workers.

Sun bleached by the sea, Carried by the waves I roam, A ghost on the shore.