In these woods, for me, I see only memory.
In the fallen trees of lonely trails
And scattered shattered leaves,
My dreams of childhood come to be.

They drift off on the muddy damp ground,
To the understated sound
of the slow stream, rushing of cars,
distantly bustling by,

Surrounding the place my friends and I,
Spent empty summer days
In play of discovery
And empty summer nights
In youthful delight.