A branch fell into the woods-

and the woods would soon follow.

Taking the thrush, the beetles,

the berries the same, into the lonesome.

After the fall, the woods must

celebrate. A feast from us, and for

our long lonesome. The woods feast

completely, and sacrifice fully.

We risk winter for the spring,

and remember the fallen.

The lonesome, though long, cannot be forever

For the woods tend towards us, as long as we follow.