You went out – alone – into the woods
To write some romantic poetry.
Ya’ know, the kinda’ stupid shit that goes like:
“O! This rain, how doth it pour’st”.

But you were side-tracked quite quickly,
Startled by the serendipity,
Heart-fucked by the tranquility
That you stumbled upon in that forest.

And wearily, wobble-legged, you wandered
Deeper through the trees
And for what felt like a day, you pondered
How to write out scenes like these.

Without planning, you left the city,
Got away from the towers and the flats
To get lost in that stranger named Nature
And eaten by the bobcats.

But those city-slicker boots
Wont help you on your walk,
And you brought a dictionary
But can’t hear the trees talk.
So, it seems like you’ve made a mistake
In going where the crows flock.

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