Beeswax Sheepskin
http://ellisnasqc.quickconnect.to/as/sharing/w8B3S30x/L011c2ljL0JlZXN3YXggU2hlZXBza2luL0JlZXN3YXggU2hlZXBza2luLzA5IFRoZSBEYXJrZXN0IE1pZG5pZ2h0IEluIERlY2VtYmVyXy5tcDM=
Weathering the northern winter takes a knack for hibernating Stack up every kindling splinter, you’re best off overestimating Provisions for the months of waiting One day you won’t hear the water Winter stills the river’s power Full the [moil] full to bursting Frozen in its finest hour Storm winds bring the bitter blessing, Wise old farmers take its measure Braced and ready, cold and cursing, Trusting almanac and rumor Grumbling half to hide their pleasure Only when the swamp mud buckles Press the seeds in, deep as knuckles And if the spring crop never flowers Take it up with higher powers Try to sleep, the forest snapping, All the pines are fishbone-brittle Old men pass the season napping, They say the frost is beneficial Feed the fire, bow the fiddle