She was as boundless as the sky—
No ring upon her finger,
No hand upon her thigh—
There was no place she longed to linger.

She watched no standard clock
As she danced below the moon.
Then men descended like a flock,
Resolved to make her swoon.

In fear, she made to change,
To become a lowly turtle,
And her pursuers could not find her
In the scope of the looking glass.

And though they found it strange,
They left her hid in grasses fertile,
And she escaped into the rocky swoops
Of the mountain pass.