I used to walk with Henry David Thoreau
Unread, this fact I did not know
Twas natural to be, among the trees
Young lad taking in, autumn’s cool breeze
The hardwoods would moan and bristle and clatter
As the wind through their branches would whistle and chatter
Golden snowflakes, leafage large as a hand
Whisking away the thoughts contrived by man
The trail of the white tail is not hard to follow
And leads to their beddings tucked into the hollow
Grouse and rabbit, turkey and squirrel
With patience the forest reveals all its pearls
Not far off the path, a large fallen Oak
With limb as a bench, the sun one could soak
Pure light beaming down, blue-sky overhead
The voice of the woodlands, a spirit well fed
As Henry predicted and time has moved on
My time in the woodlands has come and gone
Though home has changed, can never restart
In spirit those amblings remain in the heart
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