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I know a spot that is hidden far In the wild woods' devious way; In deep ravine,green hills between, Where the tumbling waters play; And just below,where,like flakes of snow, The bubbles eddy by, Is the home 'neath the foam Where the Speckled Beauties lie. I keep my secret locked apart >From all but a life-long chum; And when Nature dons her gala garb, When the summer-time is come, We tramp through the damp Of the marsh in hot July; For 'tis cool near the pool Where the Speckled Beauties lie. How far from the weary world we seem In our sequestered nook, Where the birds sing tenor in lays of love To the bass of the brawling brook; And the breeze through the trees Conjoins in with the treble high, Making song,all day long, Where the Speckled Beauties lie. Your hand,old chum;the summer's come, We're off to our grot of green; And incense raise in old Walton's praise Through my "lady" nicotine; And then for the swish of the sweeping rod, And the flash of the floating fly; For we go where we know The Speckled Beauties lie.
Contributed by Martha Warren
Page Revised: July 2002 (Don Tate)
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