A stone unturned, a trail unblazed,
A forest filled with unwalked ways.
No path is sure, no turn is known;
This wood, named Life, which we call home.
The wanderer’s way, the endless search For faces, places yet unknown.
We strive and yearn, we seek to learn
This tangled wood that we call home. Dangers hide in every shadow,
Behind each tree, each jut of stone.
Fear them, face them, fight or fly;
This deadly wood that is our home.
And when we cease, ended our quest
In the clearing where we take our rest,
We look back, weeping, and bemoan
The lost wood, Life, we once called home.
