These woods of mine I know so well
Where as a lad I used to dwell
Lost in the moment I didn't know
How unprepared I was for future snows.
My red haired hound must think it queer
To stop without anyone near
Between the dawn and setting sun
The darkest times in all my years.
He gives his leash a shake
To ask if there is no mistake,
The only sound's the Beltway
and riot of oblivious birds.
These woods are littered with memories,
But I have promises to keep,
And now is not the time to sleep,
And now is not the time to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment
My goal is to engage in civil conversation.