Foresters Have Left Woodchips

Foresters have left woodchips

And great logs to lie

By the woodland path.

Sometimes I pause and sit,

But often pass by.

And on this spring day

I see the inevitability

That all things must decay.

Yet I have sunshine

And young women and wine.

And this fleeting time.

 

 

(Doubtless this poem was influenced by Ernest Dowson)