These Woods.

Autumn Violet winding path the white Deer gently wander,

yet these are not the woods for you,

here choose not you to plunder.

A darkness gathered circled heart grow Nightshade tempting savour,

yet these are not the woods for you;

let these woods be your stranger.

Six whistlers seek a seventh here and Periwinkle wait.

Here is not a place for you,

where white Hare chose to grace.

Yet passed my whisper on you pass while roots grow through my grave.

These where not the woods for you,

now these woods be your fate.

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