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