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No highway there led down the way they followed,
No pavement smoothed the way beneath their feet;
No signposts, roads or avenues they needed,
They'd never walked upon a city street.
Just fresh untrodden snow was there before them,
And snowshoe tracks was all that lay behind;
Alone they tramped the long and lonely traplines,
And knew content and ease and peace of mind.
Alone they lay beside their glowing campfires,
Read and reread the writing on a can;
And slept and woke and fed their fires and dreamed,
Of home, comfort and summer in the land.
A way of life that now is swiftly passing,
And in a world for them grown cool and strange;
There slowly fades away a breed of man,
Adrift and lost upon the winds of change.
