How far I’ve come, I do not know,
The going here is steep and slow
Up rocky paths that wind and twist
On chilly hills where maples grow
Where clouds condense from mountain mist
I find a place the sunlight kissed
A hidden farm swims into sight
Belonging to some quietist
The cart unhitched to pass the night
My little horse thinks us quite right
To sit and let our senses sing
At maple trees in evening light
Ignited by the fall’s cold sting
Their frosty leaves are glistening
And redder than a flower in spring
And redder than a flower in spring
