an’ snow drift on the ground,
an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’
through the cedars all around,
a feller gets to thinkin’
maybe winter ain’t so bad,
starts shuckin’ off the mem’ries
of the blizzards that we’ve had.
The squeakin’ an’ the crunchin’
of yer boots on mornin’ snow,
when dawn’s a-risin’ easy,
an’ ol’ time’s a-movin’ slow,
makes a feller sorta settled
in the choices that he’s made.
How he coulda wandered elsewhere,
now, he’s mighty glad he stayed.
Most folks don’t understand it,
but he knows just what he’s found …
when there’s frost upon the ponies
an’ snow drift on the ground,
an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’
through the cedars all around.
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