Memories By The Moose Poem by Richard Provencher

River, its wooden bridge
a-creaking as we enter the park.

The river is a swirling soufflé
of foam-filled bubbles,
loose branches
meandering in the stream

a southerly flow.

Around the bend, rock-poking
ripples
overcome a small sand dune.
Aware of my presence
a squirrel skitters tree-upwards.

I am a child of my past,
peanut-butter fingers
fishing with a hooked worm
dangling low.

Upon a nearby plaque:
"In '36 three men entombed
141 feet below, seeking crowns
of gold within the granite,
one man died."

Paged in time the village
is somber, at attention
stapled to a gravel road

where peace and simplicity
are not easily forgotten.