Where RVs migrate on the trails
The buffalo used to roam,
Criss-crossed by roads and rails,
Fertile-flat Canada is our home,
Where the wide horizon prevails
Upon our senses, and we are free
And wild and open, we descendants
Of those who came across the sea,
After busting out of Europe and
Away from Old-World insanity,
Now, here we sit, on the dirt
Of our future, a speck of humanity
Young, strong, unafraid, unhurt,
We sit together on the grass,
Where the ghosts of the buffalo pass.
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| (By Photo Fiend) http://thephotofiend.tumblr.com/ |
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