The trees seemed to gallop
Across the face of the wind
Moved mimsily with the invisible tide.
The groves with their vines
Swayed ever lightly
With the force of the cool morning.
Many a weary traveler advance
Through the misty woods
But none lay eye on the deep brooding secrets.
Many a tired troubadour proceed
And none stop to see the sinister and forbidding unknown.
Yet it is there
In the way th...