Across the morning's long pale, calm horizon,
pink-ribbon clouds stretch the distance;
to the water, my eyes fall, where a boat
is unmoored, it moves with a steady persistance;
making it's way by sheer stength of steersman, drummer, and twenty rowers, as
The silence is immense, broken only by the steersman's hoarse shout, "Let it
The atmosphere seems burdened by the gathered crowd's heavy-hearted
these next few moments, this joyful
event will not be a simple recreation.
The sun, as if to mark the sudden solenmity,
sheaths itself behind a single grey cloud;
all of nature then pauses, the descension of
this mourning quiet sounds all too loud.
The boat surges to life to the beat of the drum,
the spirit of the rowers unshackle all limitation;
sunlight bursts forth, plays upon the lake's surface,
like countless stars shining, defying despair's negation.
as I watch, I see, that though we're all frail, mortal humans,
only in such unity can we discover true humanity.
The boat slows and the words of Roberton Davies
come unbidden to mind, stripping me of vanity:
"There's just one thing to remember; whatever
happens; it does no good to be afraid.";
and, with sunlit crew's each willful stroke,
I now know, all sacrifice and effort must be made;
no matter the amount, no matter the cost, they
pale before the lives the needed cure will save;
the crew, as one, then toss pink carnations to the sky
as they fall to the water, they consecrate the waves.