The snowmobiles have found the route
Canoe and I once traced
The first one up my lonesome lake
Has peacefulness erased

The ice-hut fellows drink their beer
Where I met summer loon
And lay dead fish upon the waves
Once silver with the moon

To this canoeist, January
Is fireplace and wine
For all that snow is bound for rivers
That will in spring be mine


It’s all water, this falling snow
However still it looks
This glacial mortuary
Is springtime’s dancing brooks

The January hills recharge
The waters I canoe
The shadows of the snowbound hills
Are deep and secret blue

There hides, in every mounding drift
In every diamond flake
The sparkle on some summer stream
The surge upon some lake



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