Boy of the Forest
In a forest by the river, Walked a boy not too clever, In a likewise world surrounding forever, Yet dullness took over never, The best of him. To strangers he'd always talk, Through the woods a consistent walk, Riverine silence he'd surely mock, But also the presence of a clock, Always produced him late. So often he was found, Carving sculptures on lorn ground, Into wood with fingers astound, Away from disturbing sounds, Of man occupied land. Tools moved at his command, Firm hands held their stance, And all the trees had their glance, On the beautiful countenance, Of their end produce. Remember, he held not tools for joy, He had given up the art of laughter coy, Yet every mortal took him for overjoyed, He was in fact just a lonely boy, Selling shapes in town. But strong was his heart, That put forth beautiful art, And let him depart, To the town with his cart, And earn a living. Now, once he walke