Trails to Clear
Ode to the Volunteers

*

When morning breaks, your truck is packed,

With tools and fuel and gear,

Leave the list and chores behind,

You got the call … there’s trail to clear.

*

Nature deals a tough, harsh hand

When playing with the trail,

Brush needs cutting, fallen trees removed,

Whitethorn and slides prevail.

*

Old man winter lays a drift of snow

That rests upon the land,

Beneath its melt is winter’s guess

How the trail will withstand.

*

Boulders slide, deep gouges cut

From spring waters’ sharpened bite.

Those too are filled and moved with aches,

Till the passing of daylight.

*

All this and more, is not just done

With the hum of saws and blades,

But with hands, strong backs, and glistening sweat,

And hours from someone’s day.

*

Seasons come and leave designs

But elements know no rest,

Nor do those that give their time,

So the trails are at their best.

*

Come join the silent, strong and few,

Who are our volunteers,

Allowing all to trot with pride,

And hear the words, “Trail’s Clear!”