A Forest Song

Along the old and winding path Unwatched, unheard, unseen A bird flew swiftly by A robin red and soft It sang a mournful song That trilled and trailed A tangled melody The sun shone darkly Through storm clad boughs As spring spun gales rushed by A heighted sensation Soon mimicked in the small birds aria Fell quickly cross the path, That old and winding path Where trees huddle closely And whispers become lost And life continues quietly Unwatched, unheard, untouched