Spell Of The North Poem by Paul Stephen Slattengren

Some call it lonely
and a dark dreary place
Up north toward the border
past the White face
Where the screech of the wildcat
and the laugh of the loon
Send shivers to those
who don't know the north moon
Where forests seem endless
and rivers run clear
As the days when the Chippewa
bow-hunted the deer
Where days can stand still
in the passing of time.
The north wolf he knows it
with his howl in the pine
It's driving me on
I can't let the chance go
So I'll be on my journey
before the first snow
And when thoughts come back
of the gray city nights
I'll be by the fire
'neath the blue northern lights