“Come on,” my father says. “What’s wrong?
You’re young, you’re fit, your legs are strong,
and we have miles and miles to go!
Get those knees up, why so slow?”
I grimace, and I grasp his hand
and say, “Dad, you don’t understand!
I’m not weak; I’m scared, you see,
of what the woods might do to me.”
“Oh, dear boy, for heaven’s sake—”
says he, but then I see a snake!
And SCREAM! But phew, there’s no snake there—
but then I SCREAM! ’Cause, look! A bear!
There’s no bear, either. Dad is steamed.
He thinks it’s foolish that I screamed.
“You’re nuts,” he says. “I’m not!” I say.
“And how can you be so blasé?
What if I stumble on a stone?
What if you fall and break a bone?
What if we meet a vampire bat?
What if there’re spiders in my hat?”
Dad smiles and says, “Son, just hang on,”
and points . . . And look, the clouds are gone,
and the sun is full and big and bright,
and it casts a warm and golden light,
and there’s not a bear or bat in sight.
And the woods don’t feel so bad, you know?
“Well, Dad . . . ,” I start—Hey, where’d he go?