Show THE FATE OF THE run FUN FOLK by EDWIN MARKHAM permission of ladles ladies home journal early while the east Is pale the trapper Is out on the frozen trall trail cruel traps are on his back bach snares to line the woodland track day by day he links the chain of these grina grim machines of pain in whose merciless iron laws jaws little fur tolls folk die because men alen must high in fortune ride women have an hour ot of pride squirrel ermine sable mole out for food from cliff and hole bole muskrat silver fox and mink at the stream lor for evening drink all AH are tempted to this hell that mat some bank account may swell ladles ladies do you think ot of this up where tempests howl and hiss hies where the folk of hill and cave scream with no one there to save eave do you see them thein crunched and lone steel teeth biting into pone bone la ladles dol e did I 1 you 0 ever as eee an A otter ir gnawing agn a wing to get tree free gnawing what his fettered leg for he has bas no friend to beg do you see bee that tortured shape gnaw his leg oil off to escape have you seen these creatures die while the bleeding hours go by these poor mothers in the wood robbed bobbed of joy and motherhood do you when at night you kneel see them in their traps of steel not alone by pain accurse but by hunger and by thirst do you hear their dying cries when the crows pick out their eyes yes s 60 in dreams you hear yells of agony and tear fear prom from the snare ot of iron teeth with that panting thing beneath for all night where storms are whirled groans are curdling the white world groans of mothers dying so groans of little ones that go homeless hungry in the snow ladies are the furs you wear worth the hell of this despair |