Crick
is frozen over now,
Bridged with ice an’ snow;
Down
the valley, roun’ the bend
Winds jes’ howl an’ blow.
Branches
whippin’ back an’ forth,
Snowdrifts glisten white;
Wintertime
on “Lizzard Crick”
Is a glor’us sight.
Rabbits
bobbin’ thro’ the wood
Huntin’ fur bare ground;
Squirrels
snug in holler trees,
Foxes nosin’ round
Fur
a bite to eat. Coons an’
Woodchucks burrered tight;
Wintertime
on “Lizzard Crick”
Is a lonesome sight.
Hunters
trampin’ o’er the hills,
Hounds a-bayin’ far;
Fishermen
down in the bend
Where the pick’rel are.
Campfire
smoke a curlin’ up,
Logs a-burnin’ bright;
Wintertime
on “Lizzard Crick”
Is a gladsome sight.
Dec.
20, 1903
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