The woods are lovely, dark and deep
The woods are dead yet alive.
The woods are lonely, brighter; steep
Yet the most mysterious place, an archive.
The heart of the woods, the place is sound
Yet the picture speaks a thousand things
And as i walk on the grassy ground
I listen to the chaos they sing.
Amongst the green, the trees do live
Like happiness in one’s heart
That grows with every moment lost
And every second spent apart.
The sky is blue in the morning sun
And it grows drowsy with the evening air
Just like the zeal with which one is born
Till death dims its flare.
The sky is sometimes dressed with silver
That precedes a loud, roary sound
Which may be lost amidst the woods
But can be heard from the trees around
And as they shake and tremble and fall
With the winds that follow
Showers of rain console the uprooted
Nothing’s lost, there is a tomorrow.
And before the day shall come again
A lot has been lost and forgotten
But the woods soon recover from the shocks
And the wounds are filled, after rotten.
But while i pass the woods i peep
In its heart for what it presents
For even though it is dark and deep
It says what my heart has meant.