Voyageur

 

Neil Harding McAlister

 

 

 

Our gleaming, new canoes glide off from shore,

Bright paddles flashing in the morning sun.

Young hearts burst full of hope for what’s in store:

The voyage of our lives has just begun.

 

The yellow lilies bloom in tranquil ponds.

Green leaves adorn the trees along the stream                      

Where, hiding in the languid water fronds,                               

The bashful shoals of darting fishes teem.

 

So dip and swing! So dip and swing!

And joyous is the song our paddles sing!

 

We cannot know what waits around each bend --

Wild rapids or a crashing waterfall --

But we shall carry on ‘til journey’s end.

Whatever trials await, we’ll meet them all!

 

When friendly winds push gently at our back

We surge ahead with confidence and hope;

But when fierce rainstorms slash across our track

We clench our teeth and pray that we can cope.

 

Now dip and swing, now dip and swing.

Determined is the song our paddles sing.

 

Though campsites by the shore look snug and green

We must move on; we can't stay in one place.

Each new lake is a sight we’ve never seen,

Each new portage a challenge we must face.

 

Our pretty boats will soon display the scars

Of cruel rocks that lurk beneath the stream;

If we survive we’re bound to travel far,

Each scrape a souvenir of where we’ve been.

 

Then dip and swing, then dip and swing.

Of battles lost and won our paddles sing.

 

The trees along the banks are turning bare.

The lilies fade, and water weeds are brown.

The fish have fled, and in the chilly air

Float silently the autumn thistledown. 

 

The strength of youth gives way to cares of age.

Each paddle stroke becomes a painful test.

Against the coming winter’s night we rage,

For there are miles to go before we rest.

 

It’s dip and swing, and dip and swing

Though feeble grows the song our paddles sing.

 

Some travelers contend this trip is all,

While others strive toward some mythic goal.

Unlucky ones are swamped by vicious squalls,

And weaklings drift in craft they can’t control.

 

Until this voyage ends we must be brave,

Wherever it may be that we may reach.

Until at last we slip beneath the waves,

Or fetch up on some distant, shining beach,

 

We dip and swing, and dip and swing

‘Til time will still the song our paddles sing.      

 

 

 

© 2005, NHM

Algonquin Park, Ontario, Canada