Timberland

I'm used to following the edge of the forest.

My friends and I would always meet there.
Have some picnics and dance at the foot of the trees.
Never straying to close though, never.
Just the thought of entering the wood was a joke.

My other friends, boys will be boys,
Were more adventurous and pulled me along
Seeing who could maybe go just a little further
Into the gloomy recesses of the canopies.

The days are growing shorter it seems.
The picnics, adventures, grow few and far between.
Where are the children who skirt the forest's meadow?
They've gone to face the dreary, forbidding frontier.

But there's still some time for them I see;
They still can manage some memories in those places.
I cry as I enter the jungle, the first to leave the familiar,
My own Little Riding Hood.  I hope they remember me.

I'm so used to following the edge of the forest.