The Charcoal Burner has tales to tell.
He lives in the forest,
alone in the forest;
he sits in the forest,
alone in the forest.
And the sun comes slanting between
    the trees,
and rabbits come up, and they give him 
    good morning,
and rabbits come up and say, 'beautiful 
    morning'...
And the moon swings clear of the tall black trees
and owls fly over and wish him goodnight,
quietly over to wish him goodnight...

And he sits and thinks of the things they 
    know,
he and the forest, alone together —
the springs that come and the summers 
    that go,
autumn dew on bracken and heather,
the drip of the forest beneath the snow...
All the things they have seen,
all the things they have heard:
an April sky swept clean and the song of 
    a bird...
Oh, the Charcoal Burner has tales to tell!
and he lives in the forest and knows us 
    well.