PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Before the rooster knows the dawn, 

I'm out the door and moving on. 

The coffee's black, the fire is low, 

And twelve inches of fresh snow. 

My old coat's stiff with yesterday's frost, 

My mitts are worn, my boots are crossed 

With years of mud and frozen clay— 

But there's still work to do today. 

In the fur cabin the fire is burning hot 

While the furs hang in their spot. 

The beaver skin stretched round  

The large coyote nearly touched the ground. 

The raccoon draped over the fleshing board. 

Another day on the trapline to endure. 

The woods speak plain if you know the signs— 

A broken twig, a set of lines. 

A fox went by before first light, 

A rabbit crossed sometime last night. 

I follow tracks through virgin snow, 

Reading things most folks don't know. 

My traps are waiting, cold and still, 

Along the brook and over the hill. 

I check each one the old-time way, 

Then shoulder my pack and walk away.