By: Bears Butt
Mountain men afore trapped beaver by the score
And risked their own hides in the slews
For the bounty of the plews.
The beaver did what normal came
And chewed the twigs and cane
To feast upon it’s bark,
When all the world was cold and dark.
So to you the luck of this here stick
That one such beaver fell
May your camp be well and never sick
And your game pole always full.
Bears Butt
2006
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