The Fur Trapper
As rivers wind and gather streams
where trappers came with many dreams
to make a living was their aim
without a doubt it was no game
they laboured hard in untamed bush
and ventured long with onward push
the line was cut, a cabin built
a spruce bow bed with nary a quilt
a makeshift stove, made nice and neat
filled with wood to give them heat
large block of wood, a chair would be
the table was built with poles from tree
this cozy place they'd call home
out in the bush where wildlife roam
they walked along the rivers and ravine
where no man before had ever been
checking their sets was a daily chore
with packsacks full they'd take them in
the furs they caught, they'd have to skin
when darkness came, they'd bed down soon
in their lone cabin, beneath the moon
most nights were silent, but not them all
sometimes they'd hear the timberwolf call
a beautiful sound, but eery too
that silence broken beneath the moon
the untamed wilderness, they grew to love
from early morn to the night sky above.
By: Dorothy Wark
copyright
In Loving Memory Of My Father, Ernest Guier
No comments:
Post a Comment