Far up in the woods, far away from here,
there is a trail, that wasn’t always there.
Grandfather would bring us, long long ago,
walking the trail, that wasn’t then there.
“Enter one way,” he said, “And leave by another -
and leave no trail to tred.”
Bright trout lived there, we’d catch a creel full
and bake them in the white ash of the fire,
long long ago
Seven lakes like seven jewels,
strung either side of a ridge;
a ridge filled with white cedars
and bronze colored cliffs.
A wonderous magic place
known only to a few
Enter one way, and leave another,
to keep the secret hid
and let the magic renew itself
before you tred again.