inside smoke rising from the tent looking out,

it’s freezing and crisp no doubt.

bed roll by the fire,  boots and coat to,

birds beg to come in, coyote waiting for spring dew.

oats for man and horse, breakfast in the pot

deer in the corner that the hunter shot.

Sun peeks over the hill, brings shadows to the clearing.

bears in this country but man is what he’s fearing.

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