On the Ipswich

We strap the old canoe atop the car

and drive a few miles to the little stream.

We don't intend to paddle very far,

just far enough to freshen up our dream.

We paddle up the winding stream a ways,

past sunken logs and under hanging trees.

Each sight and smell brings back those yesterdays

that dwell among our favorite memories.

And as we stroke and guide our craft along

we talk of other times we've wandered here.

We listen as the birds trade song for song,

we marvel that such peace can be so near.

And feel that fortune favors us somehow

that we have shared such times as we share now.

June 1996