A narrow fellow in the grass <br />Occasionally rides; <br />You may have met him,--did you not, <br />His notice sudden is. <br /> <br />The grass divides as with a comb, <br />A spotted shaft is seen; <br />And then it closes at your feet <br />And opens further on. <br /> <br />He likes a boggy acre, <br />A floor too cool for corn. <br />Yet when a child, and barefoot, <br />I more than once, at morn, <br /> <br />Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash <br />Unbraiding in the sun,-- <br />When, stooping to secure it, <br />It wrinkled, and was gone. <br /> <br />Several of nature's people <br />I know, and they know me; <br />I feel for them a transport <br />Of cordiality; <br /> <br />But never met this fellow, <br />Attended or alone, <br />Without a tighter breathing, <br />And zero at the bone.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-narrow-fellow-in-the-grass/
