Walking through the dark wood
I much wonder what it feels to be
Like an orphan fawn in its density
When the situations are the kite in wire
And the wind too lashes with its leather
The fear of meeting with the howling lion
As it crosses the rivulet or is there
To slake its thirst in summer and in night
When insomnia strikes hard and no moon
Is to speak to or to chaperon to other side
How to find food and whence in the day
And if stumbled upon, the errants scowl
Too loud that it has to retreat for its breath
Life in the meadows too is confinement
When parents are lost and loss is eidal