Lost in the wood.
In the deep green glow.
Gone for good.
They'll never know.
Final rest,
way off the trail.
It's for the best.
No one can tell.
I'll become the weed, the pine,
the winding vine.
Leaving no trace of me behind.
'Cept a ghostly scent for better noses.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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