I love to visit mountain streams,
their current swift and pure.
And take my rod with baited line
And cast a well placed lure.

I pitch my tent beside the stream
and breathe the mountain air.
Tis heaven, I am thinking,
As I lean back in my chair.

I gather wood to make my fire
And sit and watch the flame.
Then make the coffee, fry the fish,
And gobble up the same.

I go inside the tent at night
And into bedbag climb.
And through the door I watch the stars,
Til I am lost to time.