Walkin on Air
Cold as a witch's teat
frosty bits of ice-puffs
conquer my windowpane
reminding me of woolens and mittens
needed now, here before dawn
as I shudder to exit my quilt.
Gotta get to set the maple sap-spouts
while it is yet dark and temperature below
zero, you know?
Since some days the huge sap-basin
's been boiling, boiling, boiling
colorless luscious maple liquid
transforming it into brownish crystallized goo...
Our old mare ain't what she used to be;
yet, pulling the rickety sleigh
somehow still happens
so bucket by bucket by bucket
more and more sap is gathered.
Looking forward to the final day,
the ancestral fulfillment;
much care and effort is expended
waiting for that ultimate moment:
with music and dance and laughter and song
hot goo is flung
into the air onto the snow
there to contract, and crunch in crystal might:
telescopic sculpture of sugar lumps,
true Canadian blood line
guaranteed to offset a bad spell
what the hell...
Never look at the city
or government flap,
we only betray ourselves
why forget who we are?
Floral carpeted prairies,
majestic mountains and royal streams,
maple leaf dreams:
air crisp and clean,
land unending and will unbending
we are the envy of the Earth,
free life, free birth...