I’m a land of rolling green,
Where forests whisper, rivers gleam.
A state both small and mountain-bound,
Yet famous for my lakes and towns.
In winter, snow paints hills of white,
In fall, I’m dressed in colors bright.
Borders two nations, one you know,
The other’s where cool winds blow.
With a history of fierce independence,
And dairy farms in high attendance.
Granite quarries, ski trails steep,
What state am I, where secrets sleep?