To My Pal

Poem By Joseph Pullman Porter

I am dreaming tonight by my fireside,
Of my pal and those days long ago;
When together we roamed through the woodland,
When we camped where the cool waters flow.

As the smoke from my pipe curling rises,
And I muse o'er the trips we have made.
How we toiled to the crest of the mountain,
How we hunted the deer in the glade.

I remember the days we were fishing,
And the bank clothed with moss and with fern.
The trout in the deep pool below us,
Where the white foaming cold waters churn.

Then give me my Pal and the woodland.
Let me camp once again by the stream.
With the fragrant pine forest about me,
Let me linger and die as I dream.

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