A pinewood cabin , just beside Walloon

Just beside the lake of Walloon
At the porch of  that  pinewood cabin
When you come and sit for awhile
Looking at the beauty of the morning
Watching the flowers waking up
From their sleep and listening to those birds singing sweet
The birth of another day,
I am certain you then become a nature poet;

You , I am sanguine, then write verses in your mind-
those verses that say irrespective of place and time
Beauty of Nature remains like the sole guiding tune,
It causes a blessed emancipation
Which only gives one more of poetry,

At dusk too, after the day's works are done
When you sit at your writing desk,
You , I am sure, write down how on Walloon
The dusk gives leaves hues it has gathered on its wings,

Aha! Those hues!
How they make magical reflections,
How they make you a poet.

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