Robert Frost

I stay;

There wasn’t always Hudson’s BayAnd the fur trade,A small skiffAnd a paddle blade.I can just see my tent pegged,And me on the floor,Cross-legged,And a trapper looking in at the doorWith furs to sell.His name’s Joe,Alias John,And between what he doesn’t knowAnd won’t tellAbout where Henry Hudson’s gone,I can’t say he’s much help;But we get on.The…