Morning is slowly evolving

From the darkness of night

The wind is calm

A heavy mist is present

Over the ever flowing river

Islands and rocky points

Can barely be seen

The strains of song

Muted in the mist

Becoming louder and louder

With each passing moment

The dip of paddles

In rhythm with song

Can now be heard

The sudden parting of mist

Reveals the misty outline

Of an elegant Montreal canoe

Paddled by stalwart voyageurs

Singing to the rhythm

Of their glistening paddles

The mist suddenly closes

The sound of voices

Receding in the distance

Ghosts from times long past

The sun has crested

Chasing the far shadows

Sunlight pierces the mist

A refreshing breeze blows

Dissolving the morning mist

The river having revealed

Its ancient history

Leaving one spellbound

To have been part

Of that long ago past

The idea of this poem came to me when I spoke to a number of local people on the French River.They talked of almost hearing voices on the French River on certain days.With that in mind I created this poem.

The French River is steeped in history.This river was the main transportation route by the First Nation people,early explorers,Jesuit Missionaries,Voyageurs and much later the lumber men.
Well that is it for now.Thank you for comments.So until next time happy trails.