We are all immigrants here, it’s just a question of when. I wish more of us took the time to explore this lands marvellous beauty and diversity.
Sunrise of gold, on a wilderness lake, lighting the mist from within.
Footsteps in sand, on a faraway shore, tracing the waves rolling in.
An ocean of grain that waves in the wind, glowing like gold in the sun,
A neighborhood loud with children at play, a place where they safely can run.
And those who would take it for granted have lost their own sense of
what we have become,
For no one who’s traveled the face of this land can forget or deny
where he’s from.
A city alive, like a chorus of song, skylines and markets and dreams,
A back-country town where main street presides,
That’s not quite as old as it seems.
A weathered old farm on a hilltop alone, raising its children and grain,
A harbour at dawn with the water like glass,
As men slip their lines once again.
A wide open world where the trees never touch,
As pure as the arctic beyond,
A gigantic lake like a sea in the land, that makes its own breezes & storms.
From those coming east from a forgotten shore,
Who first made their marks in the sand,
To those who survived and found the first pass,
And wandered away overland.
And those who then followed from all the world’s shores,
Were glad to set foot on this ground,
And sweated and prospered and carved a new life, and know it’s a
Haven they’ve found.
[Chorus and end]