The Pretty People in the Woods Receive Me Cordially
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day?
So why don’t I spend more time in the woods? Why do I allow depression to prevent me from getting out of bed some early mornings? I should be more eager to be in the woods where I am know, where there is happiness.