Sunday, April 25, 2010


More than sixty winters
Down the line, have come and gone,
Since me and brother Frosty
Ran our traps before the dawn;
Sometimes the wind was howling,
And we fought the drifted snow;
It might be damp and foggy,
Or it could be ten below!

The moon still brightly shining,
Or as dark as pitch, perhaps;
No matter what the weather was,
We had to run our traps!
Muskrats, they were common,
Down along the open ditch,
But any time we caught a skunk,
We thought we'd struck it rich!

The pattern of his marking
We could hardly wait to see;
A "broad" would bring a dollar,
But a "star" would get us three!
We walked to school that morning,
Quite elated, and I guess,
We gave off all around us
The aroma of success.

Our teacher didn't take the time
To ask us where we'd been;
She simply took a whiff or two,
And sent us home again.
This didn't spoil our appetite
For trapping, I'll admit;
Besides the money, we received
A nice fringe benefit!

--Acres of Verse (1994)

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