if I don't stop by the green wood.
Far as eyes could see the glen,
wants wear for the steps of men.
To get lost in mist, the lonely 'I',
wants to be where peaks meet the sky.
The gurgling of the curvy brook,
a path which some travellers took.
The scenes of those flying rook,
would be aces in my mind's book.
The sun with its slanting rays,
signal the end of its golden days.
I want to scale the foggy peak,
thru' mossy paths where insects peek.
Crickets sing in caterpillars' band -
after a time will come an open land.
One day it will end, a very long year,
so tiringly draws my harbor near.
Before it ends - 'my natural age',
I want to cross the dark hedge.
Beyond every doubt and fear,
lies a lush meadow - shiny and clear.
Let my courage in me stay -
my only guide to show my way.
Thus, I'd cross a dark forest yard,
run, walk, crawl - I will try very hard.
The ones who take thorns and hits,
in time get the summer's sweets.
Prasenjit©2022
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