Concept 66?

To have no roof of one’s own

Is to have no home
How I long for the woods

And the starred open sky.

But the nights are so cold

For the winter has come.

How I envy the trees

With the breeze in their leaves

Moved softly at sunset

Like the caress of my lover’s fingers

Through my wild hair.

How fresh are the streams

And how clean is the air

In the forest

How deep is the silence

Without wind on the high

Distant mountains?

Envy not the gold

In the streets of the city

Never was thine inheritance

Take grass for thy bed

Rain for thy wine,

and the moon for thy candle.