Nostalgia For A Newfoundland Village
I must away where the wind comes down.
Like a cunning wolf on a sleepy town.
Where the stars slip out on the edge of night.
There is no darkness - just dark on light.
Where the tall grass grows in a long green wave,
and the "Northern Lights" make a luminous cave.
Of the whole blue heavens, from earth to sea.
Where the wild geese soar in their ecstasy.
To their favourite haunts - to begin anew
Creation's relo - at their rendezvous.