Carved In Stone:
They run upon the frozen ground,
claws dig in, with scratchy sounds.
It doesn’t matter where they head,
they will get there or be dead.
The smell of newly fallen snow,
12 dogs just pulling in a row.
12 dogs those saints of snow,
tug at the lines, it’s time to go.
A musher steps aboard that sled,
wondering about the dangers ahead.
His team is full of life, not dread,
until they move, they only see red.
Quiet comes in the forest deep,
miles to go before they sleep.
Muscles work to keep that pace,
the musher yells it’s not a race.
His dogs don’t hear and keep that pace,
musher hangs on, frozen beard upon his face.
Riding behind his magnificent dozen,
48 legs pound in perfect percussion.
He may be dead weight upon the sled,
they work for him and earn their daily bread.
Those dogs will pull and see them home,
working together they are never alone.
A partnership that was carved in stone.
Leonhard Seppala was driving home.