My canoe lies on the water

evening holds the bones of day

the sun like gold dust slips away



One by one antique stars

herald the arrival of

their pale protectress moon



Ragged branches vibrate

strummed by winds from o'er the hill

singing tales of ancient days



Far and silent lightning

stirs the cauldron of the sky

i turn my bow towards the shore



* * *



As we grow out of stones

on and on and on

so we'll all go to bones

on and on for many a year

but let us go laughing -- o

let us go



And may the holy hermit's staff

on and on and on

guide you to the shortest path

on and on for many a year

and let us go laughing -- o

let us go

let us go laughing -- o

let us go



(toronto -- july, 1969)