Booted, capped, he enters
Our south woods on his ovm.
He’s a sturdy Independent–
But he isn’t all alone.
For the tall weeds in the bottom
Are Knighthood’s really great,
And behind each shagbark hickory
An Indian lies in wait.
The sycamore that’s hollow
Is sea-going–man the pumps!
Or he is a carefree cowboy
Herding scattered stumps.
The birds and squirrels chatter.
To a fellow not-quite grown;
For a woods is full of secrets,
And you’re never all alone!
by Ray Romine Sunday, April 4, 1954
