A Poem: “The way through the woods” by Rudyard Kipling
Shamelessly altered to capture my fall in the pitch black woods!
Yet, if you enter the woods,
On a summer morning dark,
You might hear my runners feet,
Pacing quickly through the park,
As though I knew where to place
Each and every stride
This old lost road through the woods,
has many roots to hide…
I find there is no place that’s sure
along this wooded bend.
So I have several wounds to hide,
and pride in need of mend.