A poem by Rudyard Kipling
The way through the woods
They shut the road through the woods, Seventy years ago,
Weather and rain have undone it again, And know you would never know
there was once a road through the woods, before they planted trees.
Is is underneath the coppice and heath, and the thin anemones
only he keeper sees, that where the ring dove broods
and they roll at ease.
There was once a road through the woods, Yes, if you enter the woods
of a summer evening late,when the night airs cools on the trout -ringed pools
where the offer whistles his mate,they fear not men in the woods
because they see so few, you will hear the beat of a horses feet
and the swish of a skirt in the dew.
Steadily cantering through, the misty solitaires
as thought they perfectly knew, the old lost road through the woods
But there is not no road through the woods.