When I go for a walk in the wood,
To catch the mood of a flowered path,
I don’t set a ruler on the routes,
Seeking a line that is straight and good,
Or ask, What is the quickest way to do it?
No, not since I learned a different math.
I ease my feet into comfy boots,
Firmly laced with proper knots,
And stroll: I think nothing but slow thoughts
And go sauntering through it.