Crisp is the air as through the woods we go.
shuffling leaves like fallen snow.
no one can know our passing.
only the wind can know.

Bright is the moon above us when we are found to roam,
cold is the dark wet morning, as cool as oft her glow,
stars wink down upon us.
but only the moon men know.

Trees like standing corpses. wandering through the groves.
a lake filled mirrored surface leaves dancing on the blows.
gently crossing the water were skipping stones we thrown,
past the browning curtains. were only the fishes know.

Thous who go before us. have know the open road.
and thous who are behind us have left their happy homes,
but we are leaf strewn gypsies in heart and mind and soul,
wandering through the pine trees, were only we can go.

Art By the most appreciated.  remmartin