On the shores of Lake Nokomis
We once glided on our skis. The
Winters then in Minnesota
Had a certain bite and brightness
Or is it just my memories
That conjure up vast fields of snow?
On the shores of Detroit river
Where Jefferson its traffic bears,
We live our lives more overcast
By age. Fog sometimes covers up
The view. Ships pass unseen but you
Can hear them sadly moaning in
The afternoon. But where’s the sun?
Don’t fret, my dear. Spring’s surely on
Its way again. The fog will lift.
The tower of the yacht club shall
Stand proudly in the sun again,
The waters clear, the sky deep blue,
And Canada, bent down across
The way, shall drink its fill, look up
And wink, and wave at you, and smile.