The Bluff on which My Cabin Stands

With waves cascading gently on the shore
when not the keen relentless arctic winds
have whipped them to a crashing noisesome train
of locomotive strength to scale their best
the frail and crumbling bluff without success;

For liquids to the shape of their container
must abide, and though its massive waves
from deep, and dark, and vast, and cold have come,
and though their forces multiply with bad intent,
when frozen to a crystal pickaxe thrown
by winter’s gales to etch and chisel out
the arching shore, our God entitled lease
upon this land is still enshrined, as long
as tree roots thrust into the rock and stave
off wind, and rain, and snow, and wave of lake;

As long as from those trunks our axe and saw can hew
the knotty pine, and iron nails from that
same rock do smelt, then cabins’ lanterns still
will hang, a shining beaded necklace worn
about the Great Lake’s tender nape, a string
of sentinels against the rising waves
to gather in the setting suns of days to come,
and gentle noon day summer breezes, too,
which follow fast spring’s growth of tree, and man,
and flower on the gently rolling hills.

Paul Guernsey Player © 2019/04/18

See Also…

Impatient as the Passing Waves

Decentralize or Die

In response to …

Ren Brabenec‘s facebook video post about the sunsets seen from his small cabin on the bluffs above the Lake Superior.