The Homesick Trapper
(Stanley G. Triggs)
There's a twisting trail a-winding
to my trapline in the mountains
Where the silky-pelted marten love to play.
There's a bitter north wind blowing, but I'm packed up,
so I'm going
To those lonely mountain valleys far away.
I hear the Red Gods calling
from where the cricks are brawling
And their voices stir me to the very core.
And I cannot crush the longing for that little old log cabin
Where the virgin forest grows beside my door.
When the bear comes out of hiding down the trail
I'11 come a-striding
Till I reach the icy waters of the lake.
And you'll know that I'm a-coming
when you hear my outboard humming
As it leaves a trail of bubbles in its wake.
So I'11 see you in the springtime
when the ice goes down the river
And the noisy geese are winging o'er the bay;
To those secret trysting places
in those wide and open spaces
Up the muddy Duncan River far away.
Copyright Stanley G. Triggs