Ill Designed

This part of the forest is thick.
It hems in closely all around.
Its branches mingle in the sky-
Roots interweave underground.
The forest edge absorbs the wind,
It does not penetrate here,
Where the sun is strained through layered leaves,
And the way is made unclear,
By a forest wall- a wall of trees
Closing in on every side,
And through these dense and tangled woods
There are no paths to meet my stride.
So over, under, ‘round, and through
I make my way as best I can
Through woods that are ill designed
For the passage of a man.
Yet the woods are interrupted
Somewhere up ahead I know
By the edges of a field
Where trees give way to meadow.
And through the meadow runs a brook-
Broken free from the forest ranks,
And like fabric along a zipper
The fields run along its banks.
It runs for a mile or two,
And along its course I’ll roam,
Before it intersects the road
That will lead me back to home.
And though that way is less direct
Than returning the way I came,
In terms of time it’ll take
It is really about the same,
For woods as dense as these
Are slower, though shorter in span,
Due to the fact they’re ill designed
For the passage of a man.