The woods are scary dark and deep
and offer no respite.
God knows that this is all we'll get.
Of all the things you heard them say
the dead are under ground.
Writing what I hear,
I feel the moss a beard instead of green is
slightly mottled brown.
Love I've never made, I know I never will.
I sadly bade goodbye.
The bushes have no scented leaves none there
to cover what I've found.
You have entered lost
and tired and like me can't be found.
If there is a God, like you
and me, he needs a second chance I think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem