For the arctic plains where the caribou roam,
For the clear blue skies that feel like home,
For the country stretched from sea to sea,
For the North will be a home to me.
For rolling hills and open plains,
For summer thunderstorms and rains,
For wandering off the beaten track,
For the force eternally pulling me back...
To rivers that flow,
And wheat that blows,
And trees that grow
In this great land.
To wolfish cries,
The open skies,
The breeze that sighs
Across the land.
For conifers and old oak trees,
For fireworks and maple leaves,
For the arctic plains where the caribou roam,
The North will always be my home.
by Jennifer Coe.
jesterangel@hotmail.com