I set by the door of my Cabin at night
Set thinking of days that are gone, Days that have vanished forever from sight
Such days that will never return — Mingled with the cry of the Woodland,
Are thoughts of my life that has flown T have followed the life of a Woodsman
Until old and feeble I've grown.
All Streams about has a story to tell,
I've followed them faithful for years, I've ferreted out sets, from shady dells,
The Sets that Fur Bearers fears, — Each Tree I know by its color
Each Stream I know by its tone My Heart it could be no fuller,
Of love I have for this home.
I hear the faint cry of the Panther
I hear the Shrill Cry of the Mink, I hear the Hoot Owl of dark feather,
I hear the sharp snarl of the Lynx The Brush lightly snaps 'neath a Roebuck
A Bear silently sneaks on his way — Many a Buck, has fell to my luck
When hunger forced me to slay.
My head sinks lower and lower
And I dream of my life that has gone My steps has grown slower and slower
And I await the Good Master's gong, If God has something far greater
Than the forest he placed here with
love — He is sure some Mighty Creator
To plan such a Heaven above.
— E.F. Keith.
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