English Bay

The ships lie out on English Bay
Bright-lit like floating beacons
Vancouver with her spangled hands
And accents of exotic strands
Bears every ship toward day

Ice lies outside my lady’s walls
Three thousand miles between us
Ojibwa winds blot out the sun
Wail winter which has just begun
Shriek death from frozen halls

I would be sad to turn from this
And fly back east to winter
Except that English Bay’s allure
Without her here seems bare and poor
True spring requires her kiss


Published Work

Works in Progress

  • The Fifth Evangelist
  • The Sea That Laps Vancouver