Oct 302013
 
Long, long the way up the broken mountain slopes I trod;
Bunyan's plaid blazed blank in a bewilderment of snow.
Following lowing the teardrop footsteps, even then odd,
I stretched my young stride to gallop-up each hoof to each hole.
No one was there, where white earth to white heaven arose.
None tracked us above beyond the treeline's piny pale.
Blind I tramped toward glowing dawn's pink unfolding rose
Where my blue legs broke alone the glittery powdery swale.
Hoofprint and footprint entranced had traced wild swirls below;
They changed that day to ten-thousand lakes of melted snow.

*This poem tells the legend of the creation of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes district.

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