Hollands Weekblad. Jaargang 3

J.A. Emmens

Coming out of the woods

Coming out of the woods

intrigueing like hell

to retain me, my hair and my skin,

I read on the plain

something written in vain

and decided: I have to turn in.

Coming out of the woods

but by now being scratched

a ragged scarecrow of old,

I deduced from the clouds

my poor whereabouts:

in the woods I retired, getting cold.

Coming out of the woods

it was night and I found

nobody but body and soul,

the soul I could book

but the body I took

with a sigh for the cause of the whole.