I put my foot in cold water <br />and hold it there: early mornings <br />they had to wade through broken ice <br />to find the traps in the deep channel <br />with their hands, drag up the chains and <br />the drowned beaver. The slow current <br />of the life below tugs at me all day. <br />When I dream at night, they save a place for me, <br />no matter how small, somewhere by the fire.<br /><br />William Stafford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/remembering-mountain-men/
