MAZAMA'S summer glory palls
    Before the wraith-like fog that falls
From off "The Mountain's" icy flanks --
    First of the winter's hoary ranks
To snatch the lowlands in its grasp.
    And thus for days, to hold it fast!

Far o'er the wide terrain it lies
    To shroud far views from hiker's eyes.
E'en nearby clumps of firs appear
    As ghosts of long, forgotten years.
For thus, in huddled groups, they wait;
Accustomed, to this wintry fate.

(C.F.B.)