Forest

My entry to the Writers' Cramp

Uh-oh, what now, what has happened to me?
I turn and I flail, and everywhere's a tree,
How did I get here, what did I do,
well, that matters not, because I must get through

This tangle of branches, and the trunks and the bracken,
my head must be clear, and my pace must not slacken,
Did I meander? Or did I just sleep?
Or my wandering feet, to the path did not keep?

I can see the straight trunks, like the pillars for a roof,
Silent sentinels standing, so quiet and aloof,
The breeze is not present, but the forest is all 'round,
I can feel the air and can taste the sound,

What! was that noise over there by the gloom?
somewhere a branch cracked with a dull, hollow boom
but that aroma, the sweet smell of wood on the fire,
to find the source it now a strange desire

for a memory has come of a house in the glen,
and my heart and my mind want to see it again,
and, just now, my feet are in heather and gloam,
and I breathe the clean air, for I've found my way home!