Who walks by the woods,
methink, he is known to me.
Beating night’s silence in rhythmic patterns
his jingles ring on-
midnight wakes up in curly hair
setting a fountain in my stony bosom.
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By The Wood
Poem
Who walks by the woods,
methink, he is known to me.
Beating night’s silence in rhythmic patterns
his jingles ring on-
midnight wakes up in curly hair
setting a fountain in my stony bosom.
