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WHYCOCOMAGH?
Sometimes there are trees;
Sometimes there are rocks;
However, occasionally there are lakes;
Always, to be sure, there are houses;
To be sure certain there are views of a
certain gentleman being
crucified.
Nevertheless, the deep-fried food is very decent,
So good that one almost forgets bourgeois cuisine.
The coastal sky seems to frown at us
With its benevolent threat;
We receive plentiful rain.
In green valley pastures brown cows graze.
Tibetan-tea-like rough rivers carry the highland soil.
Occasional mist and fog bring wondrous possibilities.
Naive hitchhikers laugh and scrutinize our convoy.
The highlands are beautiful, free from pollution,
The lowlands regular, telling the whole truth:
There is nothing to hide.
Harmonious province hangs together,
But for occasional economic panic.
Men of Shambhala would feel comfortable and confident in the
province of no big deal,
Flying the banner of St. Andrew adorned with the lion of Scotland,
red and yellow.
We find it beyond conflict to fly the banner of the Great Eastern Sun.
It is curious to see their flags strung on yellow cords;
Nice to watch the children cycling in the ditch;
Nice to discover all the waiters serving on their first day;
Nice to see that nobody is apologetic;
Good to see alders taking root after the forest fire of pines.
June 1977
New Glasgow, Nova Scotia
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