Rusted bucket in the woods Covered with autumn leaves Beside a falling down sap shanty
Precise rows of towering firs Grown from seeds planted By long gone grandparents
Hideout in an evergreen Toboggan hill Wide open back forty
Vehicle graveyard Sprayed with buckshot Spiderwebs and dust
Broken treehouse Hidden in cedars beside A leaning drivehouse
We don’t live here anymore