Ode to Pender - A Poem

I hear the call of Pender Isle
    I see it in my dreams,
The pebbled bays and rocks that pile
    Out where the seagull screams.

Close to the shore the kelp bulbs bob
    As nets with tangled web,
Surrounding waters sigh and sob
    As tides flood in and ebb.

The stately ships go foaming past
    to many foreign lands,
Upon the beach their waves are cast
    and wash upon the sand.

The fragrant firs that sough and sigh
    upon the rocky hills,
They sing to me a lullaby
    that dispell cares and ills.

The vale wherein the alder grows,
    The side hills thickets close;
They hide the timid fawns and does,
    The pheasants and the grouse.

With many flips and flaps and whrrs
    The startled blue grouse fly,
And curve up to the tallest firs
    Distinct against the sky.

I hear the burr of flying quail
    Of flurried flock in flight,
And echoes up and down the vale,
    Bob White, Bob White, Bob White.

The cattle by the shady trees,
    The weaving fields of grain,
The singing birds, the perfumed breeze
    I long for them again.

The lambs gambol on the knoll,
    The flock of ewes and ram
Are peaceful scenes that rest the soul
    That's sick of city sham.

No smoke from sordid city clouds
    The pine bourne odourous air,
No din and clamour of the crowds
    Or wailings of despair.

The quest for more show, pomp and power
    And greed for gold increase
Leads on to war, keeps  people poor;
    This is the Isle of Peace.

Here may I live and laugh and love
    Until life's book shall close;
Then on my tomb carve book and dove,
    And in its beak, a rose.

By Malcolm MacDonald, Pender Island - date uncertain