“In the November Woods,” Friend, Nov. 1987, 17
When I was walking in the woods one
cold November day,
I couldn’t see the little chipmunks or the
squirrels at play.
The trees were bare. The stream was ice.
I didn’t hear a sound
Except for my own footsteps thumping
on the ground.
I felt so lonely on the path that I sat
down on a stone.
Then I heard a sparrow call and knew
that I was not alone.