Into the mist, through the trees, walking barefoot,
Leaves beneath my cold feet, leaves of brown and
The sun does not shine as the fog creeps across the
Making Its' way through these lonely woods deep In
What Is alive as the morning awakes to a quiet day,
So old are these woods, what tales they may tell of
Ghosts of the past, people who once were, they who
Quietly lonely as I think and dream, just quietly lonely.
Have a great day!