The Woods

A poem

"Let's walk one more time through Old Frostburg Wood,

On the path by the stream where we've so often stood.

We'll stand arm in arm, and I'll hold your hand tight.

We'll stare at the stars and be lost to the night."

Now today in the trees sits an observant owl,

Who seems to look down with a curious scowl.

I listen, and think that I hear him say:

"Who? Who's there? Who's with you today?"

I don't need to look to see that no one is there.

I've come for the hint of perfume in the air.