Water Dancers

 

Water one Lake's end 

To other

Warbling, middle-night tune.

Stars up so clear in the Northland.

Serenade, haunting, the Loon.

His water's lap

Neath the Dipper.

His is the brisk smell of pine

Seems he calls us

To rare history.

Portage and wandering fine.

Might he my presence

Find pleasant

Might he a brotherhood raise.

Lucky am I on

The rock, marsh and lichen

Lucky these June holidays.