Harbor tides, gulls fly with the currents,
A steady rhythm for my soul.
Our path leads beside the waters,
Low tide reveals the sandy shoal.
Once with vigor we paddled the trail,
A water route for our canoe,
With colored buoys to mark the way,
And, few people waiting in this queue.
A water trail, a transporting canal,
Leaving no footprint from paddler’s stroke,
O’er the years, many traveled by,
Of their aged stories, the legends spoke.
A pause ahead, an ideal isle,
For the lunch with home-baked bread.
My age commitment is at its full,
Send the next boat in my stead.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.