As you would tread along those misty winding paths
into the beechen green heart of the wilderness
in the flower of flower
and in the leaf of leaf,
there'd be a tale beseeching you,
beckoning you;
would you care to hearken close my dear?
would you hear then my entreating whispers?
whispers seeking pardon
in every stream, in every cloud,
in every forlorn rock.
these will be the ones
these will be your memories
and I shan't be in them,
but then again I shall be
If only you'd care to live mine.