Woods
Bruce Morton
We will not enter the woods willing.
It is a dark and foreboding place,
Too mysterious, too serious.
Dwarfs, witches and wolves live there.
Grim, we imagine murmurs and howls
As winds blow through leaves and limbs.
We cannot imagine wound and pain
Dug dark and deep in some hidden den.
What then do we do when we find
Ourselves lost in the wood?
Imagine or conjure a way out?
Am I out of the woods yet?
No, in the woods it is all about
Dead reckoning, even with heavy feet
Stumbling, seeking some worn path
To navigate the world become,
A wild maze where we are
Denizens murmuring and howling.
Bruce Morton
We will not enter the woods willing.
It is a dark and foreboding place,
Too mysterious, too serious.
Dwarfs, witches and wolves live there.
Grim, we imagine murmurs and howls
As winds blow through leaves and limbs.
We cannot imagine wound and pain
Dug dark and deep in some hidden den.
What then do we do when we find
Ourselves lost in the wood?
Imagine or conjure a way out?
Am I out of the woods yet?
No, in the woods it is all about
Dead reckoning, even with heavy feet
Stumbling, seeking some worn path
To navigate the world become,
A wild maze where we are
Denizens murmuring and howling.