I Have Gone To The Forest.

I Stood In The Lee Of An Overhanging Rock And Thought Of Many Things.

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.

You Are Welcome To Your Intellectual Pastimes And Books And Art And Newspapers; Welcome, Too, To Your Bars And Your Whisky That Only Makes Me Ill. Here Am I In The Forest, Quite Content.

There Is Nothing Like Being Left Alone Again, To Walk Peacefully With Oneself In The Woods. To Boil One's Coffee And Fill One's Pipe, And To Think Idly And Slowly As One Does It.

But Things Worked Out. Everything Works Out. Though Sometimes They Work Out Sideways.