Of the flowers, the birds and song
Of Summer’s rapturous throng.
They liken it to the freshness of the dew,
They speak of smiling skies of blue.
The awakening bud–the breath of June
Is ever the same old poet’s tune.
But I would speak of the dazzling snows
That only our great Northland knows.
There is a beauty yet untold
A majestic power a poet cannot unfold.