It’s
winter time on “Lizzard Crick”,
An' things is froze up tight;
All
“Gungawamp” an’ miles beyond
Is dressed in togs uv white.
The
woods lie deep with fallen snow,
The stream is bridged with ice;
An’
muskrats, turkles, frogs an’ toads
Are bunked in snug an’ tight.
Across
the ramblin’ ice-capped stream
Ol’ Mt. Tom towers high;
A
monster, white-clad sentinel
Against the dull gray sky.
The
barren trees whip back and forth,
Swayed by the wintry wind;
The
stealthy fox behind the walls
Seeks food uv any kind.
The
woodman’s axe rings loud and clear,
An’ trees come crashin’ down;
The
cattle mellow through the snow
An’ drag the logs to town.
A
startled rabbit from the brush
Leaps o’er the glist’ning snow;
The
plaintive bayin’s uv a hound
Tell uv a fox’s woe.
Down
in the bend the sun beats warm,
An' hungry pick’rel wait
Beneath
a foot of snow-capped ice
To seize the temptin’ bait.
A
campfire smoke is curling up
Beneath the shelt’rin’ hill;
An’
fishermen walk to an’ fro
With stealthy steps an’ still.
It’s
winter time on “Lizzard Crick”,
Wish I wuz there today
A-fishin’
with the boys again
In jest the same ol’ way.
The
rumblin’ uv the frozen stream
Would be ez music sweet;
An’
ha’f a string uv “Lizzard” fish
Would make my life complete!
Nov.
30, 1902
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