A Canoe up the North River

Early one Saturday morning,

In a warm July sky,

We walk up to Mary’s to set up our canoe to the river.

My friend and I would take our supplies to the crust,

And prepare for our adventure.

We would be pushed by the bigger boats,

As a way of giving a nudge to intimidate us.

But we would not falter.

We would travel our canoe up the salty water,

With each of us staying sure in our direction.

If it would not be for my friend,

The road would be too hazardous,

Too lonesome.

We share stories of our kids,

And our lives as kids as we guide pass the rocks.

We know our faults, but we love them anyways.

As the canoe hit rough waters, I wonder if we would make it.

My friend gives me the confidence,

As he leads through the rocks and waves.

Our teamwork saves the day.

Thank you, my friend.

Now the time has past.

My friend is gone.

There are no trips to the North River.

No sense of adventure of present and future.

But what I will honor were those trips,

Where we shared our memories.

All in a magical canoe.