A FOREST encircles us,
'Round our merry abode
Just beyond the river
Where falls the Autumn leaves

Spirits sow and fret
About in the treeline yonder
They laugh and dance;
And snicker at our petty little abode

Every evening of this Autumn
Has been their grandest theatre
The woman with running mascara
And eyes damasked in red

The husband raises his voice,
Like the church's choir bells
He knows not what he wroughts
And only the Forest may ever know