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He lost his way

in the old wood

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loving the trees

loving the late

watching a brook

tawny the stones

until it took him

to a pond.

He sat there still

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a long time.

The last light touched him

trembling his curls.

And he watched a bat

slake its thirst

as it flit to the water

tiny tongue extended.

His arms reached

about a tree:

He felt the bark

against his cheek.

Then he found

a forgotten path

and he ran and he ran

all the way home.

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