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A young boy sits upon his grandfathers lap,
he asks him why he moved to Canada.
Every time he gives the same reply,
“ O'Canada the birds sing, its a delightful thing,
and to me the maple trees are my home among a world full of conspiracy, and hypocrisy”.
He would tell me stories with his calm soothing voice,
about Alberta a small little place, filled with lots of open space.
He used to tell me about how he would walk miles,
just to see the Canadian geese feeding ever so delicately on luscious green grass.

Even though I've never traveled there, I've been able to realize
just what my grandfather had meant.
He meant to savor the nature,
to savor the trees,
he meant to enjoy the maple trees in serenity.
He told me that if I seek the nations treasures
I will only find a smile that stretches from
sea to sea.

After all these years he said something to me.
He told me one last story
about the time he climbed a maple tree just to get one last look at the Canadian scenery.
This was the last time he ever stepped foot in Canada because he left to fight in a great war that shook the world.
As he lay there with his smile breaking, the soft wrinkles in his face, 
the small wisps of gray hair covering his forehead.
I lean down and kiss his head, and 
I realize that he told me these stories
because he loved those great Canadian forests as almost as much as me.

O'Canada may the birds sing for eternity.
May the maple trees stand as strong and as proud as him. 
One of the greatest men to ever touch mother Canada’s maple tree limbs.
No matter what happens I know he’ll be
watching me like he watched and treasured the Canadian forests,
everyday with his cup of tea.

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