My Canoe

You may talk about your sail boats or your yacht that go by steam,

With their fancy-fitted cabin an’ their size of depth an’ beam,

But I’d ruther hev this craft o’ mine thet lies here on the shore;

An’ tho’ she’s but a small canoe I love her more an’ more.

I’ve painted scenes within her curb an’ sketched the riverside,

And often sat with paddle still an’ floated with the tide;

An’ many times I’ve dropped a hook where you chaps with larger craft

Couldn’t get within gun-shot o’ me an’ them’s the times I’ve laffed

To see you soundin’ with a line or pushin’ with a pole

When your keel rubbed on a sunken reef or grounded on a shoal.

Then I can hug close to the shore or paddle in the night

Without a lot o’ signal sech as port or starboard light,

There’ many streams too small for you to work your big boats through,

But in the world there is no stream too big for my canoe.

Aug. 2^nd, ‘90

Pub. in Camb. Press

1918 – Irene Cone in bow