I logged trees by Mushera when the hills wore hats of snow
And the cold winds of February up the high ground did blow
Then in my late thirties time becoming my foe
But that is going back twenty five years ago
Before the passing of time has left me balder and gray
The babies back then are in their prime today
And time from old Mushera has me far away
And the past just a memory as some like to say
In February in Mushera a cold chill in the breeze
And the weather is often at zero degrees
But when April is in Mushera the nesting birds sing
And the swallows return home to breed with the Spring
And the skylark a musical speck in the sky
Is singing above the mountain as he fly.
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