St Lawrence North Shore

ST. LAWRENCE NORTH SHORE Late October time to go for this rover The seagulls bleat in lonely disorderly anguish. River is open but the lake’s solid over And they know they must stay to the bitter finish. But the wild geese fly in formation southerly Flying home arrow-straight, neck Pointing their way clearly, eagerly Stretched to escape from Quebec. Knowing the way without compass or chart Through storm and night over winter’s land dead Sure-winged, and with a sure heart Knowing all that matters lies ahead I too must beat south now I’ve checked From the height of land to the shore My trap-line and furs, I expect Before spring to return here no more.