The Snowstorm

By James W. Whilt

The snow has started falling,
‘Tis falling o’er mountain and plain,
The trees bend under their burden,
Shake free, and are draped again.
While I sit here safe in my cabin
Where all is cozy and warm,
I can peer into the future,
And view the woods after the storm.
I can see the deer seeking the low-lands,
In search of their daily food,
I can see the hunter’s eyes glisten,
For he knows that the tracking is good.
The lion dogs leap in their kennels,
There is barking and wagging of tails,
The hunter examines his snow-shoes,
And dreams of “kills” and of trails.
The bear trails lead far up the mountain
Where the cliffs are rugged and steep,
And there is some cave in the ledges,
They’re beginning their winter’s sleep.
They will sleep till the wild geese awaken them,
As they take their Northern flight,
Then again they will seek the hill-sides
Where the sun shines clear and bright.
Now the wild geese honk as they leave us,
Followed close by wind-driven snow;
They are telling all of us trappers,
But, of course, all us trappers know
That whenever the wild geese go homing,
It is time that our traps are set;—
Snow, I have been waiting for you!
You are a welcome visitor—you bet.

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