I stood atop a grimy mound of dirt
I raised my head and squinted as I gazed
I looked around and not one tree; It hurt.
Oh, nature, as I knew it, had been razed.
This gloomy prairie so displeased my eyes.
They asked if they could close; I heard their plight.
They promised me a Nova Scotian prize.
I took their wise advice and closed them tight.
That moment I was standing on a stone
protruding from the ocean, clad in kelp.
Who says happiness can't be felt alone?
With access to such bliss, I need no help!
The thrashing waves on rocks welcomed me home,
As a small crab crawled back into the foam.
A Nova Scotian living in the prairies has to find a way to see it the way he likes it. Imagining the prairie as an ocean helps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank goodness, someone on this site recognizes the necessity of spelling. This is a wonderful piece. As a Canadian living in the US, I do understand. Reminds me to put on site one of mine called 'Home Is'. Hope you read it. Adeline