On Leaving My Canoe

Good bye, good bye, dear old canoe;

I grieve that I should part with you;

Your wings of white are folded now,

The paddles rest beneath your bow.

And everything is trim and neat

From stem to stern, from keel to seat.

And loving hands have done it, too,

For you are loved, dear old canoe.

It may not be, I trust ‘twill not,

For long I am to leave this spot;

But go I must, I can’t take you,

My dear companion, fleet canoe.

There comes a time, my trusted boat,

When men by other ways must float;

And oftentimes they’re dashed e’en more

Than when canoeing leagues from shore.

But ah! my dainty little craft,

Think not your master has gone daft;

He loves full well his fleet canoe,

And grieves that he must part with you.

Dec. 20, ‘92

1918 - Saybrook