I took a ferry across the St. Lawrence to take me to the North Country, <br />To the ore mines where even the newborns hack iron dust, <br />And their eyes are tinted iron red. <br /> <br />The river rolled and rocked away from Gaspé, <br />Heaving in the francophone tongue, <br />Leaving Evangeline behind me in the evening. <br /> <br />A Frenchman was phlegming into the sink behind me. <br /> <br />The sky was dulling, <br />The fleur de lys flying anyway in the wind. <br />Roll on, St. Lawrence, I groaned in English. <br />All else on board chattered away in French <br />Over their sovereign particulars. <br /> <br />That was the first time in my life I was truly on my own.<br /><br />Patrick O'Reilly<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ferry-across-the-st-lawrence/
