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III The Great Lakes Suite

James Reaney


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VI  Lake Ontario

Left! Right! march the waves
Towards the sandy shore
Where I stand and motionless
Stare at their blue roar.
Oh, they would stop and listen
And be my blue audience
If I could leap and glisten
More than they, more than they.
But although within me rush
Waves Death cannot deny
I must upon these coasts
Only listen to their cry.
My voice is soft while theirs is loud,
Loud their wavy boasts
That do drown out all reply.
I am one, they are a crowd.
Yet though I’m still and alone
Upon these thin saltless sands,
Thousands only shall hear the waves
Clap their fresh young hands
In lawless blue applause,
Because I held a megaphone
To their blue green blue noise,
Because I made this seashell,
This poem, for your ear,
My dear Monseer,
Of their blue continual hell.