Flin Flon

I step out from the city to my home and native land; where the Canadian shield soars with the help of God's great hand. The many trees before our eyes grow as far as we can see. The lakes move so gracefully and the rocks as still as can be. The thousands of friendly people wave hello each day; And nod their heads goodnight when they walk away. The northern sun begins to set at around 10 o'clock at night. The peaceful evening only starts when the wildlife move in sight. We sit upon the backyard deck, without a neon light; Counting every sparkling star and watching bats in flight. Staying up late on weekends to climb the tallest of heights. Bringing out the sleeping bags to watch the Northern Lights. Hearing the loons sing their songs under the midnight skies. Feeling the morning air again when the sun begins to rise. I can't help but feel so blessed to be able to see lights dawn; Right in the middle of Canada in a city called "the Flon".