My footfalls ring throughout the trees,
with no echo amongst them all.

The field before these woods had stretched as far as eyes could see.
Unlike this creeping, creaking forest which now surrounds me.

Any way I look I see archetype trees.
Every one I've seen thus far; identical to these.

There is no change of scenery, no promise of an end.
Should peril meet my hapless self, no alert could I send.

The uniformity, once nice,  has grown to bring me fear.
The sheltered canopy, now a shroud, no longer welcomes me here.