Category Archives: Poems & Prose

SAP TIME

The city man drives past and sees the sap pails on the trees,

He stops his car and steps outside and sniffs the fragrant breeze,

He sees the happy farmers with their Maple trees on tap.

He breathes a sigh of envy…but,

He’s never gathered sap.

 

He sees the sled and team come in…it looks like so much fun,

The farmer looks so healthy and he wishes he was one;

But in his logic there is apt to be one major gap,

For all his vim and eagerness,

He’s never gathered sap.

 

He wanders to the sap house with its cloud of fragrant steam.

He watches how the rising foam is quelled with drops of cream.

He sees the golden syrup pour and fill the thick nap

He thinks it’s simply super but…

He’s never gathered sap.

 

He’s never slogged for ten hours at a stretch through mud and slush.

He’s never emptied buckets till his mittens turned to mush.

He’s never slipped and fallen down and spilled it in his lap,

He thinks its wonderful because…

He’s never gathered sap.

 

He doesn’t go to bed to dream of maples row on row,

With miles and miles of buckets just about to over flow.

He thinks it’s quite romantic…he’s a very pleasant chap,

But the brutal fact my friends is that,

He’s never gathered sap.

  • Albert Southwick.  Taken from the book “Maple Spouts Spiles Taps & Tools” – Hale Mattoon

Sugaring-Time

The crows above the woodlot Are out on flapping wings, And in the dooryard maple An early robin sings; Beside the barn the cattle Stand warming in the sun, And it is clear that spring is here And sugaring has begun.   Go yoke the brindle oxen, And get the draw tubs out, The maple […]

THE SUGARCAMP

As the grey-wispy smoke upon the hill billows towards the sky. I smell that plesant sweetness, A shanty close by. Cans hanging from the trees as I am passing through, I’ll stop close by the Sugarcamp, As I always do. A jingle of a harness Tells me men are gathering near, Spring syrup seasons come, […]

THE WINDS OF MAPLE

When the wind’s in the west The sap runs the best When the wind’s in the north The sap runs forth When the wind’s in the south The sap runs drouth When the wind’s in the east Sap runs least