" MAN OF THE WOODS"


  Born quite a distance from civilized land, this man was,


  In this place, these surroundings of still and quiet, lives he.


  Immense sort of a man, bearded, with scraggly hair,


  Hunts for that which he eats, gun or knife In hand, has he.


  In weather hostile or friendly, he makes his way, survives,


  Cabin built of wood, Is where this loner dwells In silence.


  Content to be In this place without another soul for company,


  Whittling wood, or the harmonica played, Is a passion of a 
  Man alone.

  Fish that have been caught In a stream nearby, fried up for 
  Dinner,

  Eaten next to a fire that takes the chill from the night, as 
  He thinks.

  On the porch settles this soul, who exists In solitude, enjoying 
  the night,

  Not so complete without the puff of smoke, from his tobacco 
  Filled pipe.

  As he speaks goodnight to all around, all that lives, he's off to 
  Slumber,

  Who he Is matters' not, man of the woods, farewell.


                                         Keith Garrett