And the tall pine trees shivered
As the freezing wind blew through.
And the swollen, rushing rivers
Held their courses straight and true.
And the lumberjack leaned on his log
And watched as though he knew
The ways of winter.
And the clear blue sky was covered
By a layer of fleecy cloud.
And the snow fell through the trees
Like a falling mourning shroud.
And the wind up in the conifers exalted clear and loud
The ways of winter.
And the snow was falling thick
And the forest, it was dead.
He turned his face up to the shy
And slowly shook his head.
The sun shone through the falling snow,
A dull and fiery red,
That day in winter.
And the logger threw his axe
Across his broad snow-covered back,
And he wandered through the pines
Down the steep and twisting track.
And he knew that though his axe be sharp,
He never could attack
The ways of winter.
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