A low moan in a tangled bush
Your path obstructed by a stream
Thin clouds lapping in the breeze
A voice shouting in a dream
That wakes you up and makes you walk
Through trees to a rocky beach
Where the moon's sleek raft
Crosses over the starry lake
And again you've arrived too late
To catch a passage on its light
Stranded here and half-awake
And turning back you find
A woman weeping in the woods
Her face the first pale trillium
Brightening the fading night
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