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.