Playing the Indian Card

Tuesday, March 01, 2016

St. John's Day

On the Rideau Canal
By the River Tay
I met a dark-haired girl
On St. John's Day.

Her eyes were blue
As an angel's gown;
She bound for Perth,
I for Portland town.

Her skin was so fair
My heart did ache;
She shone like the moon
When the owls awake.

She smiled a sudden smile,
Fingers twisted in her hair.
One mad thought:
Of my own hand there.

Then, like the West wind
As it ripples the lake,
She left; I was alone
By a moving willow brake.

Above the waters’ fall
I heard a loon's song;
But she left no footprints
When she'd gone.

I might have asked;
She might have said no;
I might have built a dam
Where the Tay waters flow.

Still wildflowers bloom
On the banks of the Tay
But never one so fair
As on St. John's Day.

-- Stephen K. Roney

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