Four Sierra rivers flowing cold and crystal clear,
Draining snowpacks before man could dream.
I swam in the Stanislaus before there was hair on my chin.
I pitched my tent by the Tuolumne and it sang a lullabye.
I tasted the Merced as it played-sprayed all misty upon me.
I cooled my feet in the San Joaquin while bucks and…
ContinueAdded by Steven Fotheringham on March 7, 2014 at 12:30am — 1 Comment
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