I hear a lonely frog outside and croaking
and the fire dying I am no longer stoking.
As I on my rocking chair late at night I sit
After a busy day of fishing the night moonbeam lit
And there by the lake and near a thicket
The soft gentle singing of a hidden cricket
Growing older I think what will I do tomorrow
For each day I live is another day I borrow
Morning early rising Grandkids, "Can we catch a fish?"
A day at the summer cabin no better day this man could wish.