Way up north
Where the cold winds blow
Where the lakes are made of ice
And the mountain's made of snow



There's a pathway through the woodlands
With a clearing up ahead
And the only way to get there
Is with snow shoes or a sled

There, standing on the river bank
Underneath a tree
A buck with mighty antlers
Stood silent...watching me



I stopped there for a moment
Frozen in my tracks
I stared at him in wonderment
And he stood there... staring back

Then suddenly!
Without a sound
He turned and through
The thicket bound



On flying hoofs, in seconds
He disappeared from sight
And became my fondest memory
Of my many winter hikes

Copyright © 1998 SRP