Address To a Puck
Fair Eh your honest, hockey place,
Great Chieftain of the scarring face!
Between the boards with skates to lace,
Your rubber froze,
And darting dangerous quick of pace,
In slap shots rose.
The crackling ice on which you slide,
Chased by padded boys well applied,
In loss or victory you decide,
Yours not to let;
Where shots be accurate or wide
Streak toward the net.
This disc hits corners left and right
Can cut you up with ready slight,
From in behind burns the goal light,
Whoa, bulging twine!
This, the lonely goal tender’s plight,
Guards the thin red line.
Quick hands and fast of foot to flop,
Who are said to be o’er the top,
On grenades hurled they’re known to drop,
And fallen beneath;
With bodies bruised, brave lads will stop,
And trade precious teeth!
Your powers make cold winter fair,
In boyhood dreams young and old share;
With pride our true colours to wear,
On Habs or Leafs stuck;
This, O Canada’s common prayer,
Blessed be a puck!
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