Woodland Twilight
I know a place Where oak trees grow And silver-white birches too It's very still And very wet And the trees are very tall.
All the leaves are green If you go there now And the ferns are greener still. If you go at dusk There are owls calling With a song of twilight shrill
And the wood so softly singing In a language strange to hear Yet the song it sings will find you As the twilight draws you near.
















