A WALK THROUGH THE WOOD by GEORGE W. DAVIS

I wandered in the solemn wood
To pick the acorns from the ground.
I even knew a place where good
And choicest acorns could be found.
And so I strolled beneath the trees,
And felt the gentle whispering breeze.

And soon I passed beneath the shade
Of that old tree the master oak,
And strode in silence through the glade,
E'en though the sky resembled smoke.
I looked above and saw the clouds,
Those great majestic ghostly shrouds.

My trail led onward, gently on;
A beaten path still marks the way;
A squirrel leaped and then was gone;
I wondered why he would not stay,
But then I knew his nature wild,
And as he scampered off, I smiled.

I love the woods, I love the trail,
I love the acorns on the ground.
They have a cap and coat of mail,
And easily they can be found.
Oh beaten path lead on, lead on,
And mark the way so gladly gone.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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