Over the river and through the woods
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
That's the poem I thought of when I heard 'woods.'
Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!
Pain
(Death's what I relate with tobacco too...)
Sachsenhausen-Oranienburg (a concentration camp)
