Scattered Newfs, like pollen’s splay,
Affecting all that in their way,
Embrace, take root, in other climes,
But ne’er forget the harder times;

Or, better still, the memories fond,
Of camping, fishing, by the pond;
Or tramping through the endless fog,
To reach that spot out in the bog;

And in the boat to haul a net,
Or jig a cod with friends well-met;
The kettle boiled, the hard-tack shared;
Forgot the toil as shore is neared;

No wonder pigeons head for home,
No matter where they pitch or roam;
Their instinct, bred and born, by sea;
Distinctive, just like you and me.
  Submitted By: Robert LeMessurier