In the Woods

In the woods, the growing night
Is thick and heavy like a shroud;
The sun has slipped past tired oaks,
And gravity all but bows
As winter leans towards the root,
Where every breath is crisp with dew.
Wells of silence set the stars a-dream,
The shadows puzzle deep now lost.

Stay quiet; whisper the words of life’s thaw
Among the breaths of sweetened air,
Every rustle unfurling memories with glee —
So morning follows, like a flame
Revoking what began
As penchant for leaving and time unknowing.

The woods are deep, yet full,
With the sweet scents of foreign souls
Scattered through the leaves;
Thus all shall dance on the wrist of night
As the new day pours its grace.

• Louis MacNeice