The Fishing Trail

When I was a lad,
a fishing I would go,
with my dad,
as we walked,
we walked very slow,
not to frighten,
 the fish, you know.
On the trail,
we would  walk past,
an old log cabin,
surrounded by fallen trees,
 and long and tangled grass.
As a young boy,
my imagination would flare,
and wonder,
what persons lived there.
Was it a trapper,
trapping beaver,
or maybe black bear?
That old  cabin is long gone,
rotted into the ground,
not a trace of that cabin,
not a trace can be found.
The same will be said of me,
in a hundred years or so.
Even if on this old sod,
no trace of us is found,
if we know Jesus,
we will be found,
safe in the arms of God.