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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.
Copyright ©
Sidney Beck
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