Forest19 April 1967?
Strange a loneliness that comes
At will but will not go
The feeling of the misty hills and moors
I ride on my endless quest alone
A lost child in the black forest
Saunters crying silently.
The pretty flower forgotten twixt
Her tear damp fingers.
Only the grey squirrel pauses
To watch her tiny footsteps
Alone, home has no meaning
Life - a forgotten beginning
Slipping softly towards
An unknown end