The Woodlanders
THE WOODLANDERS
Life is a dim wood with no fixed tracks, nor visible edge,
And few clearings in which to pause and take stock.
There are many gates by which to leave this wood
But few there are who would want to stumble
On their destined gate before the very last moment.
Each continues on his own path, pushing through branches,
Stepping carefully over roots, avoiding stinging nettles,
Until one day a brighter light appears : and there in front
Is his gate, and he passes on through it quickly -
Into an easier landscape, gentle, inviting, sublime.
He looks back and sees that the wood was really very small,
Almost nothing compared with the vastness
Of the eternal beauty lying around it,
Then marvels at the fear and hesitation he had at the prospect
Of leaving behind the darkness and entering the light.
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