Farewell To Nova Scotia

FAREWELL TO NOVA SCOTIA A net of cables stretching overhead in the mist to Dartmouth Bay: Our boat slips under Angus McDonald bridge out into the Atlantic greys, Leaving forever the blues and yellows of the clapboard houses and the days Of Annapolis valley blossoms and hearing Pugwash bagpipes play. Running the combers out to the horizon and slipping over, storm tossed: The sight of our hilltops sinking away brings a salt taste of spirits lost, Reaching, yearning to return just once to the fog-land we loved the most, Jib and bowsprit stretching up from the water, farewell arm of a ghost, We see again the beach at St. Mary’s with the crying gulls at their song, And watch the whales blowing in Fundy’s Bay and the tides strong, We follow the fish, the waves, the winds, summers short and winters long: We know the cliffs where the land ends and where we belonged, And the call of foghorns and the estuary lighthouses welcoming bright. We walk the causeway at Canso Strait, left side frozen with St Lawrence ice white, Right side side open to the water of the unfrozen Atlantic, dark as night. We hear Nova Scotia call us : we’re home with our nets at last - and all’s right.