Between the two Tainter Lakes,
there was this cozy little bar,
in woods not very close to town,
but again, not very far.

We arrived in new snow,
to the river bank's edge.
But it was frozen over,
a snow softened ledge.

From the chill of the night,
into the warm, beery air,
we passed the pool table,
for a drink at the bar.

A game of eight ball soon began,
we always had a little hustle on,
grabbing a grilled hamburger,
jukebox playing a favorite song.

Gazing out the picture window,
to a Xmas lit winter postcard night,
snowmobiles arriving illuminating,
snow ahead with wavering light.

But that wonderful little place,
may no longer exist.
Except in the memory,
at moments like this.