Walking in the wood In the night mists that autumn I saw him for myself In that boggy bottom Through brambles and in thickets, Dark golden yellows, greens, and browns, Antlers blending with the branches, He rode through his grounds Softly sinking in the humus Shadowed discretely in gray Saddle and harness absent He rode upon his bay Slipping off the path Leaving no new trail He stepped into a halo Swallowed by a light soft and pale Like waters under the wind Somewhere upon that hill The single print to show his passing Slowly started to fill Walking in the wood In the night mists that autumn I saw him for myself In that boggy bottom