If you go down. . .

I walk in the same woods
           where I was born many years ago
ancient woodland
           down by the railway track
here where the smell of decay
           is matched by the odour
of fresh vegetation
           my story unfolding
amid the ferns and fungi
           in the understory
where the light struggles
           to break through

What is this thing called life ?
           Time and energy made me
as it makes all things
           just as a king is a thing
and I have travelled so far
           to be back where I started

John Lyons