QUIETLY LONELY


 Into the mist, through the trees, walking barefoot,


 Leaves beneath my cold feet, leaves of brown and green.


 The sun does not shine as the fog creeps across the
 Land,

 Making Its' way through these lonely woods deep In 
 Nowhere.

 What Is alive as the morning awakes to a quiet day, 
 This day,

 So old are these woods, what tales they may tell of 
 Yesterday.

 Ghosts of the past, people who once were, they who 
 Lived here,

 Quietly lonely as I think and dream just quietly lonely.


                            Keith Garrett