As I sit here,
gazing out this old woods road,
covered with four feet of snow,
wishing it was gone,
so I could go,
to that old beaver dam,
and where the red pine trees grow.
In those old pine,
I can listen to the crows,
and hear the splash of the beaver’s tail,
as it gives warning,
to the coming of it’s foes.
I can sit on an old log,
and watch the squirrels,
running to and fro,
and relax for a moment,
where the red pine trees grow.
Beautiful
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