© Alan Titley
A midnight paddle in an old canoe.
Surrounded by stars and dreaming of you.
Silhouetted pines soon come into view.
A solitary figure in a craft for two.
My empty bow seat leaves me feeling blue.
A fallow heart where love once grew.
In my campfire’s glow I see some great unknown.
Stories, surrounded by a ring of stone.
Of trips gone by and wild oats sown.
Portages past were not obstacles then.
Easily challenged by younger men.
If I only had that courage again.
The years are getting much shorter I feel.
My daily life now seems so surreal.
Fear grips all and weakness revealed.
Forever, I hope to have this lake.
A quiet place that keeps my soul awake.
Something no one else can take.
This lonely forest feels like home to me.
Future camps I cannot clearly see,
but there is one thing that will always be.