Snow on the level

Snow on the level three foot deep
Oh Lord how the wind is blowin
Weve eaten our packs and suspender straps
And darn if it still aint snowin'.

We made a mulligan stew today
Of old tobacco and bits of hay
Some dried up leaves and small pine blocks
A wood rats nest and a couple of rocks.

Tomorrow morn at the break of dawn
We're gonna leave this shack
A trail to seek o'er the mountain peak
Adios if we don't come back.

And if in the spring when all nature sings
You chance on our trail to track
And find a couple of skeleton things
Don't fret, its just me and Jack.

That poem was found scrawled on the wall of a hunting cabin in Canada many years ago. Given the weather, Thank you Al Gore for glowbull warming, I thought it appropriate.