from Emily Dickinson:

A Narrow Fellow in the Grass

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him - did you not,
His notice sudden 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 too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot
I more than once, at morn,

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.