In rustic cabins far away from here
there live some happy people of the woods.
With ruddy cheeks, they're exemplars of cheer.
They never visit cities selling goods.
They live on what the forest can render,
and that's not so much, but it is enough.
They tune themselves to nature's vast splendor.
In cold, they don skins, but when hot, go buff.
Or, perhaps, I lie, and no such people
exist in this world or any other.
And woods people fuss on matters, fecal --
just like you, I, and all our grandmothers.
These cheery, simple woods folk must exist,
if only in the mind of this fantasist.