What place is this,

so familiar to me;

with gentle blue lakeshores

and White Pine trees?

 

What place is this in

which, during Spring,

warm daylights fade away,

into cool nights serene?

 

What place is this,

and with whom share I

these nights

by firelights?

She sits nearby.

 

What place is this,

which became home,

after childhood years

of simply unknown?

 

What place is this

(when the days turn cold),

where I wish the snow and ice

were silver sheets and chunks of gold?

 

What place is this;

Oh, strange land of lakes?

I hear your Loons.

I see the waves break.

 

What place is this?

I shall not ask again.

For these words answer easily

of this Land who is also friend.

 

anthony forrest