In the darkly woods I creep, to a call as if to beat, these woods are deeply dark and dank, the mist so low and fog so blank; to find my way I grasped the branch of willows deceased and broad ; whose thrashings were odd and to the beat. No wind was heard and the moon so gone, I wondered what had so gone on. The snow was cold, my hands so worse for ware. My eyes were strange and so far wrong to think that movement was to far off. As the thrum grew closer still it weakened and began to haste as if knew seek in, my eyes were met, a grizzly fate. His face was pale and eyes to stare at a place that was never there. Clothed in wraps that did not match his place that he had come to very last, familiar features he did have and to my breath I did see that he was me and I was him the beating stopping and so did me.