I see a woman in the woods
sitting by her hut kneading dough.
She is bonny, sultry and country-side,
her face radiant with a glorious glow,
like the sky bleeding crimson with a tranquil halo.
Only the trees in the backdrop are bit scraggy.

But what is she doing alone in the wilderness ?
No woman of our time in her right mind
would go to the woods, let alone live there.
Maybe this is why,
Its for good that she is in a painting
hung on the wall in my room --not real nor alive,
luckier than those who were ***** last fortnight,
and their bodies left to rot here in the forest.

Who is gonna paint those women in the woods ?